Daily Details, Part 1: Farm, Markets and Packaging

I’ve neglected to provide a structured view of my day-to-day tasks and duties as I did this summer. In an attempt not to be repetitive, I tried to thematically convey some of the differences in my fall posts: I’ve been working with the animals slightly more here, I’ve been doing more farmers markets, and I’ve had more responsibility in working the markets alone. But I think a better outline of my duties helps bring to life my Fall here.

Other than the increased role in farm-work, the basic cheese-related tasks are the same: make cheese, work in the aging cave, prepare for market, package orders and shipments, work markets. Yet, because the farm is smaller and because I arrived at the tail-end of sheep season, the routine for each of these steps is vastly different from what I did this summer. My two internships have been equally amazing experiences, and thanks to their differences, I’ve been offered a chance to learn a lot of different skills in a really condensed amount of time

1) Farm Work
Perhaps because of the size of the farm and staff, the cheese and farm work aren’t compartmentalized. Brad and Meg, as well as most of their staff, tend to have a hand in both. In the summer, I mostly kept my animal interaction to gawking at cute calves. Once I helped milk the cows. As you know, out here, I’ve had much more interaction with the sheep. But I never had any udder-time with them because milking season was primarily over for the sheep. Still, after having watched their most intimate courting rituals and administered to their medical needs, I feel as though we’re as much pals as the cows I milked.

Penny guards (and occasionally
antagonizes) the rams. Brutus, who's
not pictured, guards the main flock and
is almost three times Penny's size.

I’d like to give special mention to the dogs on the farm because they’re just so darn cute. Both farms have border collies with really bizarre, but endearing, personality quirks that make them utterly useless as farm animals. I don’t know much about dog breeds, but I’ve come to the conclusion that border collies are extremely neurotic. Black Sheep also has three Anatolian sheepdogs that guard the sheep from coyotes and other roving woodland carnivores. The sheep dogs are HUGE, extremely friendly, and stay outside with the sheep and rams at all times.

2) Preparing for market and Packaging orders
Black Sheep produces less cheese and milk each year than Cato Corner. Meg and Brad have been making cheese commercially since 2005; Mark started making cheese at Cato in 1999 and his mom was making cheese on the farm a couple years before he arrived. In addition, things are just starting to get back to normal at Black Sheep since a devastating flood that wiped out most of the flock and crippled the operation struck in 2007. But the main factor in size of production is the nature of the animals. Cows are bigger. They have more milk. Further, sheep are dry for longer than cows or goats. And sheep are much more difficult to breed on a rotating cycle to allow for year-long milk production. So while there are about 70-ish milk producing sheep here to Cato’s 40-ish milking cows, and both animals are milked twice a day, the sheep give you far less milk to work with in an average year. Black Sheep's cheese production is about ten-thousand pounds per year, and Cato produces about fifty-thousand pounds of cheese per year. The result is fewer people working on the farm here and cheese work that is more seasonal.

The room for all the prepping,
packaging, and cutting. You can see
through the door, the aging cellar
is behind.

As a result, preparing for markets and shipping orders is bit less systematic. For market, there is no precise amount of cheese I’m pulling. I just go to the aging cave and pick out a couple wheels of the next available batch of a given cheese. Unless something is unusual that week (an additional event or market), I generally just use my own judgment to make sure there is enough of everything prepared for market.

I had mentioned that because of various state and local laws and licensing issues, the cheese here has to be pre-cut and packaged for each market. Once a week (usually Thursday or Friday), I prepare for two markets by making sure a little over 30 pieces of each cheese is in the refrigerator, cut, vacuum sealed, weighed and labeled. Then, I inventory the prices of each piece being taken to a given market on a sheet of paper, and organize the cheese into bins to be put in the coolers the next morning. Samples are cut into little cubes and placed in a labeled container. If there is ricotta to sell for the week, then that needs to be scooped and put in labeled containers.

When I first arrived, there were about two weeks of regular milk production from the sheep, so we could also prepare the fresh cheese, which is much like a cream cheese or chevre with seasonings. This would double the market prep time and take up both a Thursday and Friday. There were five different types of flavored fresh cheese so we needed to season and make each type, and then scoop each type into several 4 and 7-ounce tubs. We also make yogurt during milking season, so that would need to be put in tubs as well. So, in the summer, preparing for market can be quite time-consuming.

Orders are fewer and come in on a sporadic basis. Unlike this summer, there are no big packaging extravaganzas built into the schedule with boxes and packing paper eating up the room. If there is an order to prepare it’s usually just a couple boxes at a time, or someone is going to Portland or Seattle to make a cheese shop delivery. Otherwise, the orders are wrapped and packaged in much the same way: by putting the wrapped wheel in a box with ice packs and insulation. If the order is a delivery, the wrapped wheel is carried in a cooler. No surprises there.

3) Markets and Events

The winery event, clearly not even close
 to the ruckus of the Connecticut
wine festival

I described most of my market responsibilities in previous posts. The biggest differences: the cheeses are pre-cut and packaged at sizes averaging about a quarter-pound, samples are pre-cut and handed out upon request by disposable toothpick or spoon…oh yeah, and I drive to and from the market, set-up, sell, and pack-up all by myself. I’m tasked with two markets each week (versus one market per week this summer). Over the course of the season, I’ve worked three different markets: St. Johns in Portland, Chehalis, and Puyallup.

In addition, I was given the responsibility of representing the farm in various events, such as the tasting event in September that I mentioned in an earlier post. I also mongered cheese at a winery in nearby Centralia during a weekend wine tour event. It was nothing like the chaos and constant action at the winery event in Connecticut. I didn’t write about the Centralia wine experience here because I was mostly a figure-head or sentry of sorts, stationed at the table to answer any potential questions about the cheese, insert a spiel about the labeled samples, and point to a cooler in the wine store where more pieces were stored. I did a little bit of that, but mostly I ate a lot of the chili they were serving there.


Chehalis market day (Admittedly,
I could have taken a better picture)

The added market responsibilities have helped me develop confidence in how I talk about the product. Plus, I’ve developed a better sense of knowing what a customer’s tastes and interests are via body language and verbal cues, as well as knowing how to deal with the occasional problem-customer throwing a fit over taste or price. I’m still not an expert, but the added interactions have given me much-needed practice. Best of all, towards end of my first month, I began to feel more like part of the farmers market community, which is a fantastic community to be a part of.

Best of the Northwest

Today I helped Meg and Brad put up new siding on the rental house behind the barn, thereby fulfilling my corporate-to-construction Office Space fantasy. I was unreasonably excited about it and enthusiastically volunteered my help. We've officially reached the cheese doldrums for sheep-milk cheesemakers. The animal work is mostly done until lambing season begins at the end of winter. The sheep stopped giving milk weeks ago, so cheesemaking has come to a halt. There is technically enough milk here, stored and frozen, for a few more batches of their mixed milk cheese, but we're in a holding pattern until they reach their source for cows milk. There are only a few more markets left, so not as much cheese to cut. My only remaining tasks are cutting/packaging for and attending the last two markets of the season: one tomorrow in Puyallup and one on Tuesday in Chehalis.

So I realize: Out of nowhere comes the end of my second internship. I still have one week left, but I don’t know where the other eight weeks went. In keeping with my usual nostalgia flare-ups, which sometimes I can only liken to a recurring rash, I’ve started to reminisce on everything I’ll miss out here. Soon, I'll fully expound in a later post on the cheesemaking details and farm work, which I have neglected to do aside from the sheep care stories and a few market descriptions. To put it simply for now, I loved my internship and working with Meg and Brad, so I'll greatly miss every detail of that experience -- except, perhaps, cutting and packaging cheese for market. Much like washing Hooligans this summer, it is monotonous and lonely. Unsurprisingly years of document review as a lawyer, trained me to excel at tuning out and powering through such tasks. The highlight of that type of duty in the cheese world is getting to notice the changes in the cheese from time and care and the variances in batches; and at least with cutting and packaging, that involves noticing changes in taste.

Loving work has been a fortunate and reliable fact ever since I began doing this. But for now, I can't leave here without telling you about some of the other great non-cheese-related Washington experiences. 



Admittedly, I've been critical about a few things here (*cough* chickens). And I even stated I might be more of a east coast girl for long-term purposes (as far as coasts go, and with the exception of Portland, which I love).  For instance, I was disappointed in the suitability of my immediate vicinity for running and outdoor recreation. The logging history of the town and the industrial park down the road create a certain stench on the sides of the highway where I have to run. There are other gauntlets on many of the roads, including the certainty of running into at least one unleashed, untrained guard dog running across the road and barking at my heels. Sadly, I prefer the smell of bum pee while running on the sidewalks of DC. That's just me. 

 

Yet, I have found one oasis that is actually one of the most beautiful roads for running ever. I climb a monstrous hill and pass a small herd of cows at pasture, a well-kept red farmhouse, a leaf-lined trail leading to a tree farm, an orchard, and at the very end, a clearing with a perfect view of Mt. St. Helens when there are no clouds. Occasionally, on the smelly highway portion that ends my route, I see a mama and baby deer prancing through someone’s yard. I've seen the same pair at least three times, reminding not to be such a cynical jackass. I will miss that run and that reminder.

    

Seeing Mt. Rainier and Mt. St. Helens on a clear day is something I will definitely miss. On some mornings, when the Rainier is especially snowy and the sun hasn’t quite reached its peak, the mountain looks like it is glowing. If I lived out here, I would always appreciate days when Rainier peaks out from behind its cloud curtain – if for no other reason than the odds and predictability of a clear day make its appearance feel a lot like the winnings in a game of roulette. 



Not even the foggiest part
of my lovely hike

When my experimentation with running routes grew tiresome, I always had the opportunity to drive a bit and go for a hike somewhere beautiful. Despite being cloudy, and at points because it was, my hike on Mt. Rainier was the most gasp-inducing, beautiful trail I’ve ever been on. Plowing through the foggy clouds, blowing frost and zero-visibility, which made me feel completely alone, disoriented and like I was about to fall off the edge of world into a Tolkien novel at any minute, just to see what was at the top of Panorama Point was at times an exercise in self-motivation. Obviously, there was no panorama to see that day, but my curiosity won out. When I reached the top, I felt like I was seeing the mountain like few people would -- because who goes for a solo hike in that kind of weather? 

Is food on this list? You know it!

The hands-down best Mexican restaurant I’ve been to is in Centralia, Washington: authentic home-cooked, warm your heart food that is widely acknowledged as the best Mexican restaurant in the area. La Tarasca was built by one mom, not unlike your own perhaps. By the taste of her food, traditional fare from the Michoacan region of Mexico, I'm imagining she gives really good hugs. It tastes familiar, the flavors so discernable that you think you can recreat it. But of course, any attempt fails miserably, which is the beauty of really good home-cooking. She makes her own fresh corn tortillas in the kitchen, which I've seen from the dining room. And you can taste the love in them. It's a simple menu, the lamination falling apart on the pages that list off a dozen staple dishes and an a la cart menu with the usuals:  tamales, chile relleno, and badass Adobada and Chorizo tacos. Nothing is flashy; the tacos are just the seasoned meat, onions, cilantro wrapped in a fresh tortilla, with a lime for squeezing. It’s a family operation, and I get the sense that 80% of the customers are regulars. If I was here for longer, I would be among them. Please note this restaurant has received  old star approval from someone born and raised in Texas, and who therefore has street cred in tasting lots of good Mexican food.

Of course, I'll miss all the delicious fresh produce I’ve bought or bartered/traded for at farmers markets. And, god yes, the bread from Russell’s Bread, the vendor next to me at the St. John’s farmers market I’ve raved about.

Proximity to Seattle and Portland has allowed me to discover many great things about city life here. I'll miss my friends in Seattle and my guilty pleasures at Pike’s Place Market: the hot mini doughnuts, Russian Piroshkys, and Bottega Italiana gelato. I try to stay at the market long enough that I can make the rounds and eat at each place …so you know, about an hour. 

I'll miss the food in Portland. All of it. No really. I’m almost positive that every single food cart is amazing. I stop at a generic Middle Eastern food cart expecting a standard kofte sandwich and I get my face blown off by a really flavorful and fresh pocket of joy. I go to a Czechoslovakian cart for something different and pee my pants when I’m presented with the fried-slab-of-cheese-between-bread sandwich. I swear I didn't special order this sandwich, and this cart has been ranked as one of the best on their food cart scene (so it’s legit). 

I wasn't here for a particularly ideal season for weather on the beach or coast, but the Oregon and Washington coasts are beautiful even in the rain. Back to food: this also includes the amazing Bosnian restaurant, Drina Daisy, in Astoria, where the stew I ate felt like a warm blanket in my belly. 

I won't miss the chickens. I'm sorry but some things have no redeeming qualities. 

Rainier on the road to the farm

Fun with Sheep

Yesterday, I put sheep in a head lock and fed them worm medicine. Today, I put on a clean t-shirt and talked cheese to customers at a new farmers market. I honestly love that my days can be so unpredictably different and full of new things that have the potential to scare me. 

The end of breeding season for most of the sheep arrived yesterday. I was told we would be resorting and grouping the sheep based on a system that my feeble mind just barely understood. Then, I heard that we would be “worming.” I had no idea what that meant, but I was frightened. I’ve never had my own pet. So, for me, hearing about someone’s pet having worms gives me the same sick shiver of repulsion that a woman who’s never had a baby gets every time one of her newly pregnant friends talks about child birth.

Worming actually wasn’t that awful. All it involved was shooting a syringe full of milky-colored preventative worm medicine into the sheep’s mouths.  After each sheep was lured into the milking parlor with the promise of grain, we waited until they had sated their hunger from the feed buckets. Then, knowing that asking nicely wouldn’t work, we hooked our arm under each sheep’s head and tried to control their squirming a bit. As quickly as possible, we tucked the syringe into the corner of their mouths and just as they had opened up, ejected the contents of the syringe into the back of their throats. That was the easy part.

Then the sheep had to be sorted into several groups all over again. We recorded the colorful markings on the backside of the sheep that had finished breeding (the marks, as you will recall, are colors that corresponds to the marker harnessed to each ram, indicating that a given ram has had its way with an ewe). Brad and Meg called out each ewe's tag number and the marking color on her butt for me to record. "10137. Green! 8096. Blue! 10058....(pause) Blue, green, yellow and red!?" One ewe apparently approaches breeding season recreationally. She wins.  We had to pull out all the bred sheep and send them out in one big group to the far pasture. Their work for the season is done. We also had to sort out the sheep that had not had any visible markings on them in the last month and place them with a “clean-up” ram to have another go just in case they hadn't gotten knocked up. 

In an exercise that encouraged teen pregnancy, we then guided the younger, chaste sheep into groups and let them have their first crack at breeding with a couple new rams. It was essentially the same process we had accomplished with the older ewes 34 days prior, except this time we would be corrupting a new generation.

Each group had to be led out to pasture separately and guided to different fenced areas. This time there were several more moving parts, as well as many young sheep that had never been through the process before and had never even seen the milking parlor. The young ones were nervous, twitchy, and needed a lot of guiding through each step. The rest hate when they deviate from routine. All the confusion and cornering of sheep to sort and re-sort groups at times led to a melee of chasing, charging, and boxing out. When one sheep wanders off confused, much strategy or bribery with grain is required to guide it to the correct spot. Even then, a skittish sheep might be a hopeless cause until it calms down. Sheep don't do anything intuitively unless it’s with the rest of the flock. At one point we had to bring back an entire flock of sheep from pasture in order to get four sheep that had been left behind to go where they needed to. They had no idea what to do without the rest of their friends.

At first, I was completely unsure of how to get the sheep to move or not move. I mostly just reacted very slowly and stupidly to what needed to be done. Eventually, I think I became a bit more useful (I hope). I kind of understood how the sheep could be wrangled and lured. I ended the day covered in worm medicine and wet sheep. I have so so much respect for cheesemakers who have and care for their own animals; or hell, pretty much anyone who has their own animals. From worms to forced copulation, it’s hard work. People ask me all the time if I want to actually make cheese someday instead of just sell it. I say sure, I love cheesemaking, much more than I even thought I would. Then they ask me what animals I’d have on my farm. And I laugh in their face. I love the experience with the animals, and I enjoy feeling less helpless around them with gained experience. But I just don’t know if I have it in me to care for my very own.

And about that new farmers market: Last Saturday was sadly the last day for my St. Johns market in Portland. I’m still in withdrawal from that delicious bread from the bread guy. I savored my last breakfast bun until it became stale. I loved the people at that market (the vendors and the customers) and really looked forward to my Saturdays. Now, I’ll be attending the market in Puyallup, Washington on Saturday mornings instead, which seems like it will be equally enjoyable. The market is longer (5 hours), but is generally much busier than any of the others I’ve worked in the Northwest. The time passes quickly and there is plenty to see, eat, and buy. During the peak, there are 150 vendors. It is the end of the season, however, so there is only about half that amount right now. Today was an unusually slow customer traffic day for this particular market, so I hope I’m not bad luck. Also, I don’t get hooked up with awesome bread and vegetables like at St. Johns. In fact, the bread vendor sucks and the Mexican food across from me is way overpriced ($4 for an empanada that tastes like a 75 cent doughnut?!). At least there’s pie from a boisterous pie guy who’s been making pies since his 4-H days in the 1950s. I look forward to trying that next week. 

I promise, someday soon, more pictures. 

The Mating Game

My first farm-related task to kick-off my first full week of interning at Black Sheep Creamery was unexpected. After talking to Meg, I knew that I would be helping with the sheep somehow. I was excited to get a chance to dabble in animal care on my first day, as I knew milking season was coming to a close. I only occasionally interacted with the cows at Cato Corner, but I wanted to make sure I gave the sheep here at least some attention as well.

The task at hand was to divide the 70-or-so ewes into breeding groups assigned to a specific ram for their love-making purposes.

Sheep are generally bred in the fall. They have lambs in the spring and lactate for a certain period of months after that. For this reason, most sheep dairies only produce milk in the spring and summer months. The sheep stop lactating towards the fall and cheesemaking slows to a halt for the winter. The cows at Cato Corner were bred on a staggered cycle to allow for milk production throughout the year. I'm told that sheep are more difficult, and their heat cycle must be simulated through a very involved and scientifically unnatural process. Therefore, they have to be in the mood and cannot be bred any time of the year. Then, all the ewes give birth around the same time and lactate as a whole for a certain number of months. I have no idea what goats do. I'm not an expert on the carnal desires of animals.

The exact date for breeding is determined by whatever the target date is for the start of "lambing season" (i.e. when all the sheep give birth and start producing milk again next year). Luckily, I arrived just in time for the joyous day at Black Sheep. The day started off with a quick review of the spreadsheet that Meg had drawn up which assigned each sheep to one of three breeding groups. During milking, the ewes were identified and each was tagged with the color we had assigned to her lucky suitor. After milking was over, the sheep trotted out of the milking parlor. We waited on the other side, identified one of three markings we had assigned, and then coaxed them based on marking into one of three penned areas. This was different from their normal routine and the sheep knew it. Some of them needed some urging and a good shove to the backside. A few were just freaked out and tried to bowl me over.

Once the milking was complete and all the ewes had been divided, we began the process of setting up the rendezvous. We went to the rams' pen and selected the lucky guy who was assigned to the particular flock of ladies. Then, we walked the first group out to pasture, with the ram in the lead. As is the case in the animal world, introductions are a mere formality. The ram was ready to get right down to business and many of the ewes were ready to back their said business right up on him almost immediately. It became a little challenging to march the groups out to their pasture boudoir in an orderly fashion. After leading all the groups out to pasture and dividing up fencing to separate them, our work was done. So, because we can, we decided to stand there for a little while and voyeuristically ogle the amorous display. There was a lot of sniffing (on the part of the sheep, not us), some strategy, a smattering of furious "baaa-ing," and a couple love connections. Our responsibility was over; nature would take care of the rest.

The sheep will stay together in their mating groups with the ram for 34 days to allow for two heat cycles and plenty of time for successful mating. Apparently a ram can copulate with up to 50 ewes each night...which seems impressive and kinda gross. Each of our breeding groups has only about 20 sheep, so these rams would not be put to such a test. Meg and Brad are able to tell which ewes have been bred or at least attempted to breed by use of markings on their backside. Each ram is fitted with a harness contraption that straps a large chalk-like marker to his chest. For lack of a visual, just imagine this marker leaving a large colored spot on the backside of each ewe from the friction with the ram's chest during a given sheep hook-up.

I was told a story of a ram and ewe, that despite being separated, had successfully mated and bred through a wire-fence. Even the best human efforts at match-making can be rendered ineffective by natural love connections. Usually only two or three ewes are unsuccessful in breeding, which means just under 70 ewes can be milked in the spring.

This really puts a whole new spin on how I look at cheese and the milk that went into creating it. Cheese really is love. Sure it's messy, multi-partnered, animal love. Nevertheless, to mother nature, it's a form of love. 

Meeting the Cheese Family Part 3: Making Goat Cheese at Beltane

Until now, my only experience making cheese has been at Cato Corner and a brief laboratory session at cheese school in Vermont (i.e., VIAC classes). I thought all cheesemaking was an intense, sweat-soaked battle with curd. I completely forgot that not all cheese comes in ten to thirty-pound wheels of bicep challenging fury. What revived my cheesy perspective? Making goat cheese at Beltane Farm for a day.

Paul at Beltane and Mark at Cato Corner are cheese buddies who make their respective cheeses ten minutes down the road from each other. They each have their niche and they each rock the cheesy rind off that niche. Mark is the master of raw cow's milk, whereas Paul makes awesome fresh chevre and bloomy rind, French-style soft-ripened goat cheese from pasteurized goats milk. Last week, Paul was gracious enough to let me see the farm and help them out for a day in the cheeseroom.

Paul had a very calm and patient approach that made working in his cheeseroom a pleasure. His staff was great to work with as well. The majority of the time we laughed and talked about cartoons and music, so I felt right at home.

I started out, as expected, with cleaning dishes. Cleaning is always a constant no matter what cheesemaker you're working with. Then, I took down the chevre that had been hang-drying in the cheese cloth hoops overnight. We mixed the thick glorious mounds of fresh goat cheese into a tray and added salt. I did the honors of tasting several spoonfuls to make sure the salt was spread evenly. I'm always a little hesitant to offer up sophisticated tasting observations because most of the time I'm so excited about food that all my brain tells me is "mmmm tasty, now eat more." But I surprised myself in being able to pick out when the salt was inconsistent.


Fresh chevre takes almost two days to make. First, it has to rennet overnight in order to retain more moisture with a slower coagulation. Then, it has to dry overnight in hanging cheese cloths. Yet, it is an instantly gratifying cheese to make, because after those two days, it's ready to be packaged and sold right away. No aging room, no maintenance, no drama.

After last night's chevre chilled for a while, it was thrown into a crazy cheese-sausage-making contraption that squeezed out symmetrical 4-inch rolls for packaging. Some were sprinkled with herbs.

Next, we worked on the curd that had renneted overnight in the vat to use for a couple different cheeses. We spooned some of it into small molds that looked like plastic Dixie cups. These molds would then be flipped, but not pressed, much like Cato Corner's softer cheeses. The spooned curd will ripen and become one of their soft bloomy rind cheeses. Then, we scooped the rest of the curd in a large pitcher and poured it into cheese cloths to hang overnight for tomorrow's chevre. No hot and sweaty stirring, no cutting with giant wire harp cutters, no draining, no pressing. There was a fine art, however, to pouring the curd, which was a very wet, jello-like amorphous mass, and carefully gripping the cloth around the heavy wet blob to tie it so that everything didn't go spilling out from an errant corner. Plus, if the cord isn't tied tight enough while it is hanging, the cloth could slip out and spill all its cheese entrails on the floor.

While all this was happening, the milk in the second small vat was pasteurizing for that day's cheese, which would be a Camembert-style ripened cheese. In order to make fresh cheeses like chevre that cannot be aged, the milk has to be pasteurized. By federal law, anything made with raw milk has to age at least 60 days. That just won't fly with soft un-aged cheeses, such as chevre, ricotta or even many Camembert or Brie-style cheeses, that is unless you want a plateful of funky rubber in two months. Therefore, in this country, young fresh and soft-ripened cheeses have to be made with pasteurized milk. To accommodate this step, cheesemakers like Paul use a cheese vat that doubles as a pasteurizer. Once the milk heats for long enough to meet pasteurization requirements and then cools to avoid killing the rennet and culture, then everything can remain in the same vat and be added directly to it.

There wasn't much milk. The pasteurization, cooling, acidification and coagulation process, all taking place in the same vat, didn't require much time. By late afternoon we were hooping. Everything at this stage involved the same familiar concepts of cutting the curd and scooping it up in molds, but with one-tenth of the milk, almost no heat, and different equipment. We cut the curd by cutting lines in the gel with a basic kitchen knife and stirred only long enough to catch the big pieces we missed. With such a small vat it only took fifteen minutes to empty out the curd during hooping. The molds were the same ones we use at Cato Corner for Hooligans. We flipped the cheeses in the molds, of which there were only a few dozen (versus over 120 Hooligans at a time). Both vats cleaned and all done...at 2:30!

Though the day ends early and I lose far less fluids making goat cheese, there was a careful dance to balance the various batches and additional work of pasteurizing the cheese. On top of that, they make cheese every day of the week -- all seven of them -- so there is no reprieve. I'm glad I got the opportunity to broaden my experience while catching a glimpse of the goat-world with such an awesome crew.

Be it from a goat or from a cow, I still love eating both by the fistful. And now, I love making both. I'll pick cow when I need more cardio and weight training though.

The aging room. Less space required.
What no giant wheels of cheese?

I love baby animals so much. 

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.

Yeah, hi, I'm here for my milking. K, thnx. 

Hungry babies

Cows being directed to milking
parlor

Pipeline system that pumps the milk to
the bulk tank in the adjacent room (through that door)

Hand milking colostrum from Kate,
who had a baby that morning

Cow mosh pit entering the milking room

As you can see, the cow on the right has a substantial udder.

I'm told that sometimes bustier cows need a cow bra. 

Except theirs employ tarp-like material

and strapping cords used by semi-trucks to carry cargo.

Cow parade after milking
on the way to the pasture

Return to Cheesy Street & A Short Musing on the Cute Cow Dilemma

Okay okay, I apologize for yet another extended delay in posts. Life in the cheese world has been business as usual, but my time has been occupied with exploring a little more of Connecticut and the surrounding area in my dwindling days here....oh and with playing with the stupidly cute new kittens on the farm.

As an apology, I now provide you with the following information that I hope you will find of use some day:  According to the show Modern Marvels, Garrotxa, a firm Spanish goat's milk cheese, is the most effective cheese cannon ball. Thanks to Holly for the heads up on this bit of info; according to her, it busted through the sail, no problem! If I ever become a black market sea-faring cheese dealer, I know exactly how to protect myself. Someone make sure this doesn't get into the hands of the wrong Somali pirate.

The only new events in the last few weeks have primarily involved the cows. First, the cows received their hoof trimming right outside the cheese house window. Trimming all the cows was an elaborate spectacle that we could view from the cheese house window all day. It involved a large platform restraint that lifted and turned each cow on her side. Then, the pedicure guy came around, wearing goggles and holding a giant curved electric saw. He started shaving off giant projectile pieces of the hooves. As you might imagine, none of the cows were cool with this event. They were all breathing heavy and drooling...which I suppose is a natural reaction to stress in all animals; I did that on a daily basis in my old law firm job. Many of the cows were fidgety, which put them at risk of injuring themselves from flailing about too much. There was one heartwarming moment when cow came around and started licking the face of her restrained cow friend who was getting trimmed in an effort to calm her down. I'm sure the cows needed the trimming and it was done as gently as possible, but I felt bad for the cows. If the woman at LA Nails tried that on my feet, she'd get punched in the face.

A few days later, I saw one of the farm workers pulling one of the young male cows along. "Oh hey where is she taking him," I say, peering out of the window.  Everyone else looks at each other, hesitantly and in unison  a chorus of "uhhhh," followed by laughter. I discovered there was a separate area I had not seen where the young males are kept before they are sold or get sent for slaughter. To be fair, the boys are segregated to keep them from getting fresh with the young girl cows, and not to prepare them for death. Still, it was the first time I came face to face with the idea of eating one of the cute little cows. The farm sells its own pasture raised beef and veal (not the bad kind of veal, but the kind from happy, free, pasture fed young cows). I've eaten plenty of delicious meals from the farm's meat. But I never had to put a face to a burger. Oh well, I know it's the circle of life and not all the male cows can be raised for breeding. Plus, eating small amounts of locally raised meat is way less guilt-inducing and much better for the environment than eating unreasonable portions of faceless mystery meat at a restaurant of questionable repute. Oh and I really like eating meat; huzzah for delicious salty protein.

Both of these events made me confront my conflicted feelings of attachment to cute animals, empathy for living things, and desire to eat a fat steak. I suppose I could pontificate more on that front, but I'd hate myself if I ever pretentiously posited a manifesto on vegetarianism versus omnivorism or militantly demanded that all McDonalds be outlawed. I'm not trying to be a hippie about this. I'll just leave it at the fact that this whole summer has made me appreciate where good food comes from and the importance of trying to incorporate as much locally produced foods and ingredients in your diet as possible

Last Sunday, I visited the farmers market in Coventry, Connecticut. I'm more or less done with working the major farmers markets in my last three weeks (wow! only three weeks!), but I wanted to check out one of Connecticut's biggest markets. It was definitely busy, but a much more picturesque and less claustrophobic event. The whole thing took place on the site of the Nathan Hale Homestead on a far flung stretch of country road, so there were also people dressed in colonial garb...which was...weird.

The last major event was having my boyfriend come experience what a day of cheesemaking is actually like, but more on that later (stay tuned for a potential guest post). The next few weeks will be occupied with cramming as many new experiences as possible into the last weeks. Including, visiting cheese stores in the area....and... milking the cows!

(Exploring Connecticut is pretty)               (Flute and Harp doin' what they do on the farm, which is not much)

(Fourth of July on the farm: we grilled, we drank, we hand-churned our own ice cream)

On Saturday night, I will drink beer as a cow poops in front of me....

....is a sentence I never thought I'd use to describe my weekend. But here I am.

Let's start with the beginning of my Saturday. I came in to help with the cheese store in the morning. Every Saturday and Sunday the front room in the cheese house is turned into a cheese counter. Cato Corner fans, novices, and neighbors can come buy cheese directly from the source. I was a little nervous at first because I'm not well-versed in all the cheeses, and all I really know how to do is wrap cheese (poorly at that). But it ended up being a lot of fun. Leslie, who works the cheese store every week, was very patient in helping me learn about the cheeses. She graciously introduced me to the customers so that I wasn't just the smiling fool who folded wrapping paper like a five-year-old.

Around noon they needed my help in the cheese room. It was a fairly laid-back Saturday. Until about 4pm, I helped stir, hoop, and clean up, all while Frank Zappa played in the background.

Saturdays are my Fridays. So afterward, I hung out with the rest of the Saturday crew and toured all the pastures and barns. First stop, seeing the twin calves that were born the night before. On the way we noticed one of the young heifers, who made a reputation for herself as a troublemaker, had gotten outside the wire fence. For a solid ten minutes, I watched as Chris, one of the cheesemakers, tried to corner the heifer back under the wiring. The display caused all the other heifers to congregate on the edges and vocally cheer on their colleague in the epic battle of man vs. cow. This time cow won. We decided to inform Heather, one of the milkers, who was more adept at handling the personalities of the animals. We came back later to find that the troublemaker had taught two other heifers the same trick, and now three had escaped. After some strategic cornering and luring them with food, we managed to get them all back in the fence. Of course, there was nothing stopping them from getting back out when they wanted to play the game again.

We wandered into the pens with all the young cows, which were, as you would expect, ridiculously cute. Then we stopped in to see the newborn twins. One of the baby twins stood up on its shaky new legs and wobbled her way over to us so we could pet her. I just pet a baby cow! Awesome.

Afterward, we walked around the pastures with a couple of late afternoon beers. We walked back down for a stop in the milking room to visit the milkers with an invite for a post-work drink. To get to the milking room you have to go through the barn where all the adult cows mill around and "hang out." So depending on the number of cows that are there at any given time, it can feel like you're pushing your way to the front of a crowd at a cow concert.

I watched as they brought in the cows four or five at a time and attached the milking pump. The cleanup involved a high pressured water gun that would put the hose gun in the cheese room to shame. I was jealous.
Then one of the milkers began putting milk into half gallon size bottles for the calves. She turned to me and said something, which I thought I misheard at first.  "Do you want to feed one of the babies?" ...excuse me what?...ahem...Hell YES!

We went into the area with the babies, she pointed one out and handed me a bottle. I held it up as the baby cow came over and attacked the bottle with ferocity. Her gluttony was adorable. It was gone in maybe 30 seconds. I went over to get the next bottle and one of the older babies started following me. I was told that at a certain age while they are still very young, the cows are taken off milk and put on feed. So the milk is like candy to the young cows who don't get it anymore. This cow must have had a sweet tooth. It followed me over to the next pen and started licking at my arm and trying to get to any drips off the bottle. I had to adopt a technique of  hip checking the older baby out of the way while holding the bottle up for the younger one. I imagine pizza parties for little children are quite similar.

As I waited for everyone to finish up work, I stood outside by the entrance to the barn with my beer and noticed one of the cows staring at me very intently. I thought we were forming some cosmic cross-species connection. Then, I started to hear something that sounded like collected rain-water rapidly pouring out of a gutter. I looked down and realized, the cow wasn't trying to bond with me, but was in fact just concentrating on making a bowel movement happen. As she casually crapped her figurative pants, I just happened to be in the way of her focused gaze. It was an oddly dramatic end to an awesome Saturday.