Jersey Calves

Now that the pastures are green and lush, the Amish neighbor’s cows have been turned out to graze.   Their horses spent a lot of the winter out there, pawing around in the snow, getting exercise and toughing it out.  They had a shed for shelter if they wanted it, and were also fed hay, but for the most part, they roamed around the large pasture, experiencing all that winter had to offer.

The cows were sequestered in the barn where they could munch on hay and silage, stay warmer, and produce milk.  It wouldn’t be good for their milk handles to freeze, so they need to be protected inside a building.  It’s amazing to walk into a barn full of cows on a cold winter day, and feel the difference in temperature.  They really do put off some heat.  Enterprising cats  will often seek out a cooperative cow to sleep on.

It’s a pleasant sight to see the cows—blacks, browns, black and whites, and some cross-breds—all looking happy for freedom and fresh grass.  Bright brown eyes watch me curiously from both sides of the road as I  stride up the Zuercher Road hill.   I talk to them.  Why wouldn’t I?  I’ve been talking to animals for a long time—as long as I can remember—sometimes in English, sometimes in the language of the critter.  It’s okay.  I’m pretty sure others do this too.  

This is the time of year that my father-in-law used to love going for a drive.  He was a farm boy, raised on the south end of Kidron, growing up on a tractor and helping to milk a herd of Holsteins.  It was in his blood.  He seemed to enjoy nothing more than driving through Holmes County, viewing herds of clean black and white cows grazing on the green hillsides.  Juanita and I used to go with my mother and father-in-law sometimes on Sunday afternoons.  He would ask me to drive so he could look at the scenery.  Even if I had cars on my tail and they couldn’t pass, my pappy-in-law would ask me to slow down, so he could revel in the beauty of the scenery.

I had never really thought about how cows on a hillside could be beautiful, until he called attention to it.  We see it so often, and take it for granted—this pastoral beauty that is just waiting for us to pause and notice.  It’s refreshing to take a little time to appreciate this view of creation, to re-acknowledge that we are here temporarily, and it is God who “owns the cattle on a thousand hills”— and long after we’re gone, there will still be cows out there peacefully grazing on the green juicy grass of spring.

My earliest memories include Jersey cows.  Dad and Mom bought the small farm north of Elida when I was “in the oven.”  It was a “lock, stock, and barrel” purchase, that came with equipment and animals, including a Jersey cow for milk.  This was a dream come true for Dad.  Here, he could raise his boys and give them the pleasures of farm life.  I am forever grateful.  I think we all are.

Of all calves, there is none more winsome than a Jersey.  The small size, the large brown “doe” eyes, the trusting temperament, the natural curiosity—this is beauty on the farm.  And the nice thing is; there will be another new born calf every year in order for the cow to give milk.   Cows are no different than any other mammal.  They have a baby, and their bodies produce milk to feed the baby.  A cow produces a lot more milk than they need for the calf, and we can enjoy the many products.  Butter, yogurt, cottage cheese, cheese, and ice-cream, to name a few of our favorites.  

After our years on dairy farms in Gallia County, Ohio, we returned to Wayne County with a desire to keep on farming.  We were soon blessed to have the opportunity to purchase a mini-farm where we raised quite a few different species of critters.   We talked about that last week when we wrote about goats.  But we didn’t limit ourselves to goats.  Seems like we needed to try it all.  

We didn’t have them all at the same time, but through the course of several years we raised chickens, turkeys, horses, donkeys, and one accidental mule.  We thought the horse was never in contact with the donkey jack, but a little black mule proved us wrong.  

Now the mule is an interesting animal.  I’d take her for long walks back through the fields, through creeks and ravines, over and under fallen trees—there just wasn’t anywhere that the mule wouldn’t follow.  It was fun until the day I took her mama out of the pasture, leaving her penned in, and it made her angry.  She hauled off and high-kicked the gate, narrowly missing daughter Angie.  That was it.  I loved the little mule, but I love my children more.  So she was sold.  The mule, that is.  

We soon added Jersey calves to the mix.   After the years of learning to love bovine creatures in southern Ohio, it was a natural step.   And besides that, we wanted to raise our own meat.

Some Jerseys are spotted.  This one came from a registered herd.

Some would question the wisdom of raising a Jersey to eat.  It is true that they are slow-growing, and don’t pack on the pounds like a beef steer.

However, the cost per pound of meat in the freezer is quite low.  Back then, the price of a three-day-old Jersey bull calf straight from the farm was ten dollars.  It didn’t cost much to bottle feed them until weaning, and then they could go out on pasture for the summer with a very small amount of grain each day.   I’d buy them in early spring, and by late October, when the pasture was pretty much done for the year, I’d send them to the butchering shop.  In some ways, it was a sad day, except that the excellent tender young beef soon made us glad that we did it.  

In the meantime, we enjoyed the animals, and they became nearly like pets in the first few weeks while bottle feeding.  Once they’re turned out to pasture, they don’t get much attention, and they soon lose the baby cuteness.  That’s fine.  Helps to not miss them as much once they’re gone.

By the time fall rolls around, the calves average weight is around five-hundred pounds.  About forty percent of that weight will come back to us as meat to feed our hungry children.  The bonus for butchering them at this small size, was that we didn’t have to feed them hay and grain all winter.  There would be more meat if we raised them longer, but there would also be additional cost and labor for each pound.   For us, this was the lowest cost meat possible.  The price per pound was much less than store-bought.  And we know where it came from.  And we are thankful that we can participate in this cycle of life.

They say you should never name an animal that’s destined for the dinner table.  Okay, that’s fine for some people, but we choose to name them.  Perhaps it is nothing more than an indication of warped humor, but we like to give the calves names that reflect the purpose for which we raise them.  It helps us keep perspective on why we are doing this.  Table fare.  We’ve had calves named Sir-Loin, T-Bone, Chuck, Hot Dog, and a few others that I’ve forgotten.  

Nearly all bull calves are destined to become meat.  For those who look at the pictures of a beautiful, brown-eyed, innocent calf, and just can’t imagine the day when it graces the table, I understand.   We need to be careful not to judge one another.  Some people will never eat meat, and others will eat it every day with thanksgiving.  This is life.  We should all be grateful that we have food.  

From Kidron, Ohio, where the sturdy men are busy working in the yards and fields; the patient women are looking healthy and happy working in the flower beds; and the energetic children are tearing it up on the ball field.

Go for a drive in the country if you’re able.  Appreciate the beauty of the season.  Be thankful.