sweet ground

For better or for worse, all my thoughts are becoming more single focused than ever. Everything I think involves either my animals, milk or cheese. There is rarely a thought that exists outside these subjects. It’s all my world. Unfortunately for someone who doesn’t like cows or cheese, I really have not much else to talk about.

One of these mundane thoughts I’ve had lately, when I was meandering our scrubby summertime fields to bring our cows into milk was this: how do our cows eat all these fibrous plants and grasses, and produce a nutritious and delicious substance? Constantly our cows are doing something spectacular, at least I think so: they are somehow transforming grasses and leaves into fats, sugars, vitamins and minerals. When I look at a blade of grass or a leaf of clover, I don’t see how that green can turn into white milk and cream. (Especially cream…butterfat from grass is the part that really intrigues me.) But it’s there in the fields, waiting to be transformed. Somehow. Some way.

I know that the process that happens inside of a cow’s rumen is incredibly complex. But' that’s about all I know. Putting the chemistry aside, I’ll just take it for granted for a moment and get to my point: I had a simple revelation when I was getting the cows a few evenings ago after a brief rain:

The newly saturated ground, combined with the moistened leaves and grass blades gave new life to the summer pasture. The land was breathing a sigh of relief, absorbing what it could, and releasing so many wonderful fragrances. I was overwhelmed with flavors of rich flora, and I finally put two in two together. This is what the cows smell all the time. They can smell where the ground is savory and sweet. For anyone who has watched cows before, they can tell where the good grass is from smell alone. They will put their nose into a tuft, reject it and move on, or dive into it like there is no tomorrow. Their senses allow them to live in a different realm, and I inhabited there for a few brief moments while my mind was clear and free to appreciate the overly fragrant air.

It happened again to me when I was bush hogging some blackberries and thorny pasture weeds yesterday late evening to allow room for grass to grow again. The smell created by the cutting was the same intensity, but a whole new array of fragrances hit me. I took a moment while the engine was running to enter the ruminant world. How interesting to think! The fragrances of blackberries, seeded grasses, chicory and wild carrot created an unseen mushroom cloud explosion of heavenly odors. I had the urge to stick my face right down into the earth and take a big inhale and explore.

So here it is: A treasure map was laid before me. The scents of the earth guiding me to her most lush and rich parts. If I followed it correctly, I would find the cows, indulging and transforming a bountiful tuft of grassy cream from one state to another.

Time is moving. Always moving. The sun was about to set.

Our cows in the distance were ready to be milked. I needed to head home.