Cheesy Street: Au Lait

I grew up in Kansas, but I did not grow up on a farm. Shocking, I know. I had a picture of a Nebraska farm framed in my office, which a high school friend gave me as a going away gift when I moved from Omaha to D.C. She said it was to "remember my roots." I assume she was being sarcastic, considering most of our crew grew up in the suburbs or in the city limits, a stone's throw away from a SuperTarget. When I told other lawyers in my office that the farmhouse in the picture was not my childhood home, they seemed genuinely confused. "Oh... but this is kind of what your house looks like huh?" Awkward pause. No. Awkward pause. "Well you're not in Kansas anymore! Snark snark snark." Awkward pause. Guess not.

When I arrived at Cato Corner, I had never encountered a barnyard animal that I didn't see from my car, at a petting zoo, or in a pen at the state fair. Getting up close and personal with their mammary glands would be an even more foreign experience for me. But cheese ultimately comes from somewhere, and I'd be a fool if I spent the whole summer at a farm and didn't trace its roots back to the originator.

Last Friday, after the morning cleanup in the cheeseroom, I ventured to the barn-side of farm operations to help out with the afternoon milking. In the late afternoon, someone goes to the pastures and brings the cows down to the barn. I wasn't there for this process, which I didn't mind too much because it was scorching hot that day. Around 3:30 the milking process begins by starting the system for cleaning and sanitizing the pipelines that transport the milk from the cow to the bulk tank. The milkers double-check the names of the cows that need to be milked. From those names they double-check which cows' milk should not be placed in the tank because, for instance, they have been treated with medicine for some ailment. Yes, all the cows have names, such as Dierdre, Kate, and Lili.

The milking parlor is prepped and the necessary equipment is put in place. (I love that it's called a parlor; it makes me think that the process for the cows is sort of like having tea.) Then, the cows with the non-tank milk are tracked down and set aside to be milked last. In groups of four, the rest of the cows are led to the entrance and lined up on the platform. The feisty cows get fitted with a kick guard, which is an expandable curved rod that places slight pressure on a leg muscle to prevent any reflexive wild kicking motions. The platform has four stalls that the cows instinctively file into. It is divided from the milkers down below by metal a railing and what I call butt plates -- plates strategically built into the railing behind the cows backside to prevent uncontrollable (or perhaps spiteful) spraying of poop onto the milkers below.

The process start-to-finish went something like this: First, the cows back hooves are hosed to keep clean the area where milking pumps come closest. The udders are wiped clean with a wet cloth that is dipped in a iodine dilution. After drying the udder, the cows are hand milked briefly to check the milk for any signs of infection. Then, the teats are dipped in sanitizing solution and the pumping apparatus is attached. The cows generally finish each quarter (a quarter is one of the four teats) at staggered times, so it is important to keep an eye on each part of the pump to make sure none of the quarters are over-milked. When all the quarters are finished, the pump is taken off and the cows are briefly hand milked again to make sure no additional milk has dropped down to the teat in substantial quantities. Lastly, the teats are dipped in an iodine solution to keep bacteria out. Then, the cows go on their merry way for a feeding. The post-milking feeding serves the purpose of keeping the cows on their feet, so they don't roll around in anything that could cause an infection during the udders' brief recovery period.

The mechanical pump is far quicker than hand milking each cow, of which there are about 40. Plus it sends the milk through the pipeline directly to the bulk tank instead of having to collect the milk from each cow. Heather, one of the milkers, suggested I put my finger in the pump to see what it felt like...which initially seemed like a grade-school-type prank. It was not as scary as it looked or sounded. The pumps simulate a very gentle pulsing motion, which feels like a combination between a weak vacuum and the early squeezing stages of a blood pressure test.

Heather and Kim were the milkers that day. They were great at explaining what to do and gracious about easing me into my first milking experience. First, I secretly started by constantly reminding myself in my head not to giggle when someone said the word teat or try to make too many "that's what she said" jokes.

Then, I started by simply cleaning the feet of the first few groups of cows. I stepped up to wiping the udders after a while. Cows aren't the cleanest animals and some of the udders needed a good rub down. But having never taken the liberty of wiping down a cow before, I was overly gentle at first, which wasn't very effective at removing the dirt. I figured like any respectable lady they didn't want to feel man-handled and violated. Turns out cows are less genteel than humans. Once I got used to handling the udders, I had my first shot at hand-milking a cow. I figured out the hand motion and was able to squeeze out milk after a couple tries. I was filled with genuine school-kid joy and giddiness to be able to say that I had just milked a cow.

Finally, by about the fourth or fifth group I was able to complete the whole process on a cow start to finish. Lili was the first cow I milked. I will never forget her. Dingle was the last cow I milked...mostly cuz I liked her name. If I couldn't giggle at teat, I was gonna giggle about something!

Lastly, before clean up, we fed the baby cows with the bottles, which I have described doing before. It's still my favorite part. I'm beginning to think that animal babies are cuter than human babies. There was one baby that was less than a day old. He had some trouble figuring out what was going on with the bottle, so it took a little longer to feed him. Most of the new babies are kept in the pens with their mothers for a while and will feed off their mom's udder. But brand new babies will be bottle fed colostrum, which is milk from a cow that has recently given birth and is rich in antibodies.

Then came feeding time for the rest of the babies kept in the baby pens. I noticed that some of the babies will jerk and head butt their mom's udder or the bottle when the milk isn't coming out fast enough. When I was bottle feeding them, it was somewhat alarming and annoying. But then I thought to myself, I feel them; I get antsy when it takes a while for my food to come out at restaurants. I'll draw the line before I start punching servers in the chest though.

The whole process lasted until about 7:30 pm. I loved every minute and had a great time working with Heather, Kim, and the cows. Yet, milking cows is a twice a day grueling event. The cows are stubborn and on their own schedule. And they're not exactly easy to push around. It's a lot of work and the end of the process can test your patience. I'm not sure I'm cut out for the farm and animal-care side of a cheesemaking operation. I loved the animals and hope it's not the last time I help take care of them, but I'm not sure I have the aptitude to do it on a daily basis. At least not for now.

After cleaning up the parlor, we took the last of the cows out to the pasture, which was a rather idyllic setting for the end of the day. As the sun was setting, we walked the cows to a wooded area that pretty much summed up the bucolic stereotype of farm life with one glimpse. The only thing that could have ruined the moment was if I heard the phrase "you're not in Kansas anymore" one more time. Thankfully, cows don't talk.