Bovine Therapy

Earl and I had a milk date last night. The older boys are at my parents' house, so it was just us (and Oliver, but he just rode on my back and laughed at the cows.) It was a pretty uneventful milking. I milked the first twelve by myself while Earl shredded the round bales and spread out wood chips on the bedded pack and then we milked the rest of them together. For the most part, Earl washed and hooked up the cows and I fed them and filled the dip cups and took a unit off here or there when I noticed a cow was done. We talked about Urny's feet, Neet's postpartum udder swelling (going down nicely, don't you think?), and Popcorn's stupid, pathetic little tail. (A few summers ago, she got it caught in the notch of a tree and thought she was being eaten and ran away, leaving some of her tail behind.) The cows came in and nudged their feeders, telling me to get to work and scoop out the grain. Kristee opened the door to let herself into the parlor. Noodle stole grain out of the bin with a fancy tongue trick that had Oliver in stitches.

And it didn't matter that I was tired and Oliver was heavy or that I was getting dirty after finally finding time for a shower earlier in the day. I was hanging out with Earl, talking and laughing and discussing the great and small issues of the day. Earl moves around the barn with perfect ease and competence and the cows nuzzle him and talk to him in cow language, a silent little language Earl can understand and there's something about watching your husband do something really well, no matter what it is, that's just cool, and even sort of sexy.

The sun was shining when Oliver and I walked back from the barn. We followed some good cooking advice about how to begin meal planning from some cookbook I read once: "As you walk in the door, before even removing your coat, set a pot of water to boil." Dinner turned into Pasta Arabiata, a saute of spaghetti with fresh tomatoes, mushrooms, garlic and jalapeno peppers. As I was chopping the garlic, my friend Margaret, whose arrival in town a few years ago was a fucking gift from the gods if ever there was one, called with some jokes. I laughed and Earl and I set the table, considering and deciding against candles. We had light enough as it was.