Last year, our Jersey cow Pumpkin came up “open,” meaning she didn’t get pregnant after being with the bulls.
She’s been a great mom and milk producer for us, so we decided her body needed a year off. She enjoyed her summer as a carefree empty nester and, if I’m being honest, we enjoyed a summer mostly off of milking.
I say mostly because at one point, a friend who temporarily needed one less chore dropped off her milk cow, Heidi, and Heidi’s Guernsey bull boyfriend (Guernsey is another popular milking breed.) Consequently, we did get some fresh milk, and Pumpkin got to hang out with a fancy man while Heidi was with us.
Since bovines are not generally devoted to monogamy, we hoped Pumpkin and the Guernsey would, ahem, make good use of their time together, and the result would be a new baby come spring.
Usually, we breed our Jerseys to the same bulls as the rest of the herd, which, most years, are Herefords. Herefords, like Jerseys and Guernseys, are a British breed of cattle, but Herefords are intended for a high yield of beef production, not milk.
A half Jersey cow is still going to produce more milk than a full Hereford, but obviously not as much (nor will it be as creamy) as a cow with full dairying genetics.
Since Pumpkin is going to be 8 this spring, the man of the ranch and I were already discussing the idea of buying a milk cow calf soon.
When our friend asked about bringing Heidi and the bull, we were excited at the prospect, because having a full-dairy heifer (aka female) out of Pumpkin was the perfect solution, since we love Pumpkin.
She is easy to hand-milk and has a fun personality. In two years, when Pumpkin is ready to retire, that daughter would be ready to have a calf of her own.
Here’s the thing, though: through some quirk of livestock logic, it is almost universally true that if you want a heifer calf out of a specific cow — let’s say because she’s a great mother, easy to work with, etc. — just the wanting is enough to ensure it is very unlikely to happen.
If it’s a milk cow bred to a fancy dairy bull, the chances are even slimmer. And if, two weeks before your milk cow calves, your friend texts you a video of the brand new, adorable heifer calf her Jersey cow just had from the same fancy bull, it will take nothing short of a full-fledged miracle for you to get a heifer calf too.
Thank goodness miracles do happen! We knew Pumpkin was getting close to labor when she started “bagging up.” Then, a week ago — Monday, under the light of the full moon — Pumpkin gave birth to the most adorable calf I have ever seen, and it is a girl!
She is a light fawn color, with luminous white patches on her sides, hocks, nose and tail. She also has the adorable, scrambly stilt legs all calves are born with, but are especially pronounced in dairy calves. We’ve named her Luan (pronounced LOO-an), which is the Gaelic word for Monday and the shimmering light of the full moon.
It also means we suddenly have an overabundance of milk. The rest of the herd hasn’t started calving, so we don’t yet have any orphaned or rejected babies to help drink up the extra gallon of milk Pumpkin produces a day.
Last night, the refrigerator already overflowing, I taught the kids how to make farm cheese. They decided they wanted to make their own flavored cheese balls, and pretty soon, we had a sampler plate with two different varieties — herbed and pineapple (which sounds strange, but was delicious).
“When can we make this again?” my son asked between mouthfuls.
“We can make it tomorrow,” I said, “And every day after if we want.”
“Infinite cheese!” my daughter shouted, pumping her fists in celebration, while we all laughed and reached for another taste.
