Written by Jody on 2/3/2020.
This was taken at a farm event in North West Connecticut. A farmer came out with his border collies to demonstrate their ability to herd sheep. The sheep on my shoulders jumped the fence and got in with the cows. Everyone exclaimed and no one else would do anything, so I (having handled sheep at my dad and stepmom’s farm in Kentucky) got in there and carried out the sheep. The cows were defensive so this was probably the best way out. Some time later, the person who had this photo in their camera (though who was the photographer is under debate between 3 hippies), was at Bluestone Farm a bio-dynamic farm run by 4 elderly Sisters of the Community of the Holy Spirit, a monastic order in the New York Diocese of the Episcopal Church.
The sisters at nun farm called me after they found out who I was and said, ‘hey, do you know how to milk cows? We heard you do know how to milk cows? How’s about you [skipping some trial period] come live on our farm and you can eat all this really healthy food if you will milk some cows with us?’ And, “the cow may squish you on the wall of the building where the milking happens, but there will be absolutely no squishing of the sisters.”
So sure enough, I, who had been a 14 year old preacher in rural North Georgia, went to live on a farm with nuns and you see that big mama cow with her milk sac swaying above? That’s Jiffy. See that onerous little calf named Mercy? She never attached to her mama so I had to bottle feed her. So, I’d be bottle feeding Mercy back by Jiffy’s hind end and Jiffy would turn her incredibly powerful and immovable cow head on her tree trunk of a cow’s neck and start licking my forearms while I bottle fed her calf. I tried to stop it. I tried to bottle feed Mercy somewhere else, but Jiffy would pitch a fit and Mercy would run to her. I tried to push Jiffy’s head away. You try to move a cow’s head sometime and let me know what you come up with.
So, I surrendered. It was weird. Jiffy’s tongue would put little small abrasions on my skin. After a few more days, they stopped bleeding and my skin changed. Eventually, I told Sister CB and she told the rest of the huddle and they all shouted, “You’re in an oxytocin loop with that mama and her calf!” So, I surrendered. In the 2nd full year of my sobriety, I squatted by Jiffy and milked her by hand to a rhythm.
Aaaaaahhhh.
Soooooooo.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I had crippling panic attacks all day, but I coveted my time with Jiffy and it got me through.
I tried prozac and it was shit, but I would
be here now, milk the cow and everything was wavy gravy.
That’s how it went for 9 months of my life.