Surviving chaos

Peter’s text to me Friday morning said, “If chaos has a fuel gauge, today it would show ‘FULL.’” He was not wrong. 

We had picked the day two weeks earlier to butcher 100 chickens. The weather also aligned properly to be a great day to harvest third crop and haul out manure immediately following. Dust was layering every leaf and petal of the flowers lining the driveway. Silage truck and manure tanker traffic was steady all day, in and out of both driveways of the farm. We started butchering around 11:00 a.m. 

Once we figured out our sweet spot of the scalding temperature–we had a great system going. Heads littered the ground outside, as is the case when you are butchering birds. Feathers filled the wash bay gutter. Dead, naked birds soon filled the coolers of ice and cold water. By chore time, the wash bay was cleaned up and the birds were chilling out until I could move them to their freezer compartments. 

As usual, we had a great team of friends willing to come and have a chicken party with us. Stella and Brynn were vital helpers; after years of turkey hunting, the realization that gutting a chicken is not that much different than a turkey made it easier on them. The guys in the fields were trying not to have any extra hay down in case rain came, so when they ran out of hay to chop, they went back to cutting the rest. Chopping was done early for the day, and the farm was quiet again by 7:00 p.m. 

I entered the farmhouse early Saturday morning and was greeted by the sweet perfume of ripe peaches. I had the kids pick every peach they could reach on the tree earlier in the week and was awaiting this day. They had them spread over every available flat surface in the living room to best ripen. It was a bumper crop year for sure. As I mentally went over my plans for the day, I added making fresh peach pies. On the way to the barn, Dad sent a text that Hailey just got pulled out of the sand in pen three and was headed my way. What he did not mention was that he sent her to the parlor to get milked first. I kept wondering where she was, and when I started walking towards the parlor, I was met by an employee who told me she was down in the return lane. He and I got really lucky. A few scoops of sand and some helpful muscle — she popped up and carried on her journey to the hospital pen. However, he then informed me I had a down cow in pen two. 

Cora and I grabbed the halter and IV bucket of supplies and trekked over to pen two. Fergie was in the very end stall. With no firm diagnosis beyond some very bloodshot eyes, we gave her the goods and hoped she would perk up in an hour. Only fresh a couple weeks, Dad found a displaced abomasum. She had a not-so-small udder, the kind that is just waiting for her next-door neighbor to catch with a hoof — so no surgery for her. With milking done, we headed back to check on Fergie. She still didn’t have the power. From the barn, I saw my dear friend, Molly, and her family, drive in for a visit en route from Minnesota back to New York. But cows had to be situated before I could get my hugs in. Our power for Fergie was in the form of a skid steer, halter and some extra muscle pulled off the silage pile. She went to the pack to hang out with Hailey.

Cora and I had a great, albeit short, visit with Molly, Bryce and their munchkins. We made lunch for the chopping crew, ate together, grabbed some pictures on the porch with kids, and after enough hugs to try to last until next time, we sent them off towards home. Marion, our intern from France, Cora and I cleaned up the kitchen tornado. I had slipped on my apron and was getting ready to make peach pies as I got a text from Peter about another down cow. Cora headed to nap and Marion to do some schoolwork. I grabbed Henry and his two buddies that come around with their parents when we are chopping. We took the skid steer, halter and IV bucket once again, planning for anything. I slipped through the man pass in pen five to see Avis, a beautiful (of course) second calf cow down in the alley with warm ears but no fever. I gave her a prod to assess. She lunged forward and her back right leg flopped all about. I may have uttered some colorful language, then made phone calls to find someone to butcher her. 

Back at the house, the peaches were still waiting for me. Alexis had arrived to help build some peach pies before she had to feed calves. As we were slicing into our bowls, we heard a shriek from outside. We both listened intently and heard it again. The door flew open and one of the boys made a beeline for the sandbox to grab the other two. The hay wagon filled with grass hay in the new shed was on fire. Let’s just say there were the right people in the right place at the right time, and we saved the shed. A tractor, a loader, a bolt, a hose, two fire extinguishers and a call to 911 got the fire out. Little boys are always watching what big boys do and do not always have the level of maturity to understand the safety aspect. Three boys had a chat with the sheriff and Peter about fire safety, but everyone was safe — and it could have been so much worse. 

Alexis took Cora to the calf barn with her. She gets pretty worked up about fire after watching the shed burn a couple years ago. I took a breath and stared at the bowl of peaches. I had no zip-close bags to build a freezer pie — those were all holding chickens. I grabbed my lard and rolled out a crust, threw the pie in the oven and headed to the barn. I managed to zip down while Marion watched milkers and pulled out a beautiful pie. The neighbors were almost done butchering Avis in the wash bay, and guys were continuing to chop hay. With all the events of the day, making a night meal for the crew was out of the question. I ordered pizzas. The guys finished chopping around 10:30 p.m. and covered most of the pile by midnight when they called it a day. 

Perhaps this week the gauge of chaos could float around “E.” I could handle that. 

Jacqui Davison and her family milk 800 cows and farm 1,200 acres in northeastern Vernon County, Wisconsin. Her children, Ira, Dane, Henry and Cora, help on the farm while her husband, Keith, works on a grain farm. If she’s not in the barn, she’s probably in the kitchen, trailing after little ones or sharing her passion of reading with someone. Her life is best described as organized chaos, and if it wasn’t, she’d be bored.