In my new farm environment I've been reminded a couple of times of how easily seemingly innocent situations can go awry. The other day, for example, I walked into the barn ahead of the other interns for the 5 0'clock chores. In my naive eagerness I set the stage for a kind of Marx Brothers' imbroglio involving several fifteen hundred pound cows, a half dozen new born piglets and their irate mother, and about ten shoats or, "juvenile" pigs, appropriately named for their curious and tireless nature. Oh, let's not forget the four hundred pound sow, "Veronika;" and me, weighing in at 180 pounds; that is, if I've consumed my dozen pancakes that morning. In an Italian opera the characters' costume is important. In this self-made rural Ontario farm opera the weight of each participant is what really matters.
Part of the 5 o'clock chores is to let the milk-producing cows into the barn, for brushing. Brushing the cows is an integral part of the biodynamic philosophy of Whole Circle Farm. For their brushing the dozen or so cows enter two areas, each with its own door. Each cow knows which door to enter. It's a habit reinforced by getting a sweet potato in their stall every time they get brushed. Twelve sweet potatos. Twelve cows. Two areas, each with an entrance door. Pretty simple. But leave out a couple of these details and it's chaos.
I thought another intern was right behind me, but it turned out he was doing something else. So my first error was to not wait for him or another intern to come down and set up the cows for brushing.
The second error was that I opened only one door, not two. Finally, I did not place a sweet potato for each cow. Unbeknownst to me, the stage was set for what was to follow, and lucky for me the result is a funny story (and a rule for me to employ in future), and not a coroner's report.
I opened one of the doors. The correct cows came in, at first. But one by one they did not see a sweet potato in their stall, and they began mooing and backing up. But more cows came in, including cows that could not get into the other area, because I had not opened the other door.
Seeing my error I dashed to open the door to the other area. A few cows came in, but in my panic I'd repeated my error of not placing the beloved sweet potatos, so I created a small-scale version of the operetta going on in the larger area.
By now Veronika the sow had entered the scene. She waltzed passed the cows and into the inner pathway, paying a visit to the little piglets and her mother, who started barking and snorking to Veronika. The juvenile pigs followed Veronika's example, and about five of them made a move, running through the forest of cow hoofs.
Harpo Marx riding bare-back on Veronika would have been a perfect addition to the unfolding fiasco.
"Ah, I need assistance in the barn," I radiod over my walky-talky.
WHile waiting for more interns to arrive I methodically and cautiously got order restored, first by shoo-ing out Veronika (and Harpo) and the juveniles, then by ushering out each cow. The place was a cacophony of bleating, mooing, barking (yes, pigs can let out a dog-like bark), and of course, squealing; but the squealing might have been me.
My lesson in this is to pay close attention to what you do, and to be mindful of the reason why certain things are done the way they are. For example, at least two people are required to set up the cows for brushing. Their are numerous other situations on the farm which require care and mindfulness.
