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 Few kids get to know where their food comes from. We grow up in our urban world of supermarkets and drive thru windows. I am not sure I would take my youngster to an abattoir but given the chance to visit a dairy farm and an organic field of greens, I jumped!
Each year en route to our vacation spot on Lake Huron we try to take the Huron County Farm to Table tour. Gathering our groceries as we go, turning our schlep into our very own 100 mile diet by purchasing our food directly from the farmers. We stop for honey at the bee keepers’, sausages and bacon at the pork farm, eggs right out from under the chickens, beets, lettuces, potatoes and onions from da guy what grew ‘em. It is a real lesson for J and sheer giddy joy for me.
On the way home, we like to catch a play at Stratford and crash at our friend, Geordie’s farm. Luckily, Geordie is well loved by his great neighbors who welcomed us in this year. We got to see how laborious the hand milking process is and how fascinating the machines used to do this are.
As we tested the strength of the suction with our thumbs in the tubes I was surprised to discover that there was a pumping action. Not just straight suck. Now, I can’t imagine why this surprized me, having pumped my own breast milk for almost a year. I know that there is a gentle pulling and letting go that needs to happen. I know that the milkee needs to be relaxed to let the milk come and a strong, mean suck would not make it happen any faster. Nonetheless, I was surprized by the gentle, soft rubber cuff and its puff of pull on my thumb.
Bending under a one ton cow to actually apply this machine was another matter. I wanted J to get a feel for it as well as figure it out myself. Of course, she who rides horses, was way more casual and comfortable than I. Her confidence shows in the photo. We watched the milk gather in the glass jugs through stainless steel tubes attached to the machines we had applied. We saw the buttery yellow color of rich, whole milk fill the glass jugs before splashing into a chilled holding tank. We thanked our cows and our hosts and went back to Geordie’s, changed. Awed, fascinated, humbled, thankful and changed.
The next day we stood on a dirt road in our fair province and watched the milk truck speed toward our minute contribution. J and I stopped in our tracks and thanked the huge contributions of our farmers. Humbled in the knowledge that some kid somewhere in Canada would be drinking our few squirts within days. Changed by Big Bad Bessie with the M.I.L.K.
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