Morning

I am a little hesitant to write about how much I love morning milking, because Earl is likely to read it and most of the time, I like sleep more.

Every now and then I catch a glimpse of myself through the eyes of my previous self and I shake my head at the long list of things I never, ever thought I would be doing. Milking cows is not one of these items. I was never especially agricultural, but I like to work hard and I don't mind getting dirty, so it's not such a huge stretch as it might be if, for example, I knew how to walk in high heels or had a tinny laugh or anything. But this morning I milked the cows in my pajamas, and that is something I never thought I would do.

At bedtime last night, Earl looked like he'd been run over by a truck. He'd just come in from doing some concrete repair work after a long day of fencing and moving cows around. I suggested we split up the morning chores, one of us setting up the milkhouse and bringing the cows in, the other sleeping a little longer and then coming up to milk. "Naw," he said, "I'll be fine." But when the alarm went off this morning, Earl could barely move and I jumped into my boots and headed off to pasture #4, which isn't actually that far from the barn. I hadn't laid my barn clothes out the night before. Unlike Earl, I only really have one set of clothes I wear to the barn and it wasn't going to help move the world forward if I spent half an hour looking for them, so I went in my pajamas and a sweater.

It was quarter past four when I left the house and I figured I could be back in bed at five. I tried hard not to wake up all the way, plodding along, sometimes with my eyes closed, along the lane. The cows were mostly up and at the gate and I didn't have to say a word to get them moving. The water tub didn't have to move very far and I knew right where the new hookup was. There weren't any new calves and I had remembered to open and close all the right pieces of electric fence. I yawned and shuffled and was right on track until I turned to walk back to the barn behind the cows.

The sky was just starting to color up and the cows were a black silhouette against the pale yellowy green-blue that hovered along the ridge line. The birds, whose noise had seemed pretty chatter on my walk out, were suddenly putting on a symphony. It even smelled good. I took a deep breath of chilly but promising-to-be-a-t-shirt-afternoon air and thought, "Fuck. Now I'm awake."

So when I got back to the barn, I figured I might as well start milking. I had the same first rack of cows I seem to have every morning, Nefer, Cinder, Savanah, Fern, Tanna and Charlie. Cinder was the only high-maintenance cow, requiring some massage and ever-adjusting tension to milk out completely. She was born on our first anniversary and I've always had a soft spot for her, even if she is black and white. Earl came up as I was hooking up the sixth cow and we chatted and milked the next rack together.

The light was morning gold as I walked back to the house and even if I can't buy it in paint, it's my most favorite color and always will be. Since I wasn't going to get back to sleep, I thought maybe I was finally going to get a minute to offer up a blog post. And so I have, but I keep sneaking peeks at the sunrise over my shoulder. Just now, the first beam is lighting up the lashes on my left eye, making me all winky and sheepish feeling.

I'm pretty sure there are people who work their whole lives trying to feel about something the way I feel about the mornings on this farm. When I'm out walking around with the cows, there is not a single particle of my body wishing I was somewhere else. Not even bed.

But please don't tell Earl.