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Showing posts with label livestock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label livestock. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Everybody Poops

My apologies, but that video just made me laugh. And strangely feel like I’m at work. Anyway, today we’re still talking about grazing. How awesome is that? Okay, not very for those of you who came here for lit stuff, but hopefully a fun read nonetheless.

Grass-fed beef has one really amazing side benefit: it’s good for the environment. Grazing is one of the most fuel-efficient processes available. Sunlight makes grass grow. Grass makes cows grow. And cows make us grow. All with just proper pasture management. No inputs and totally renewable if properly managed. It really is beautiful when you think about it.

On confinement operations, such as ones available at most dairies (wink wink), animals are confined in limited spaces, feed is moved to them, rather than them being moved to food, and the feeds are chuck-full of pesticides, herbicides, fertilizer, and are planted and harvested with heavy equipment, which require, you guessed it, fossil fuels. Or bio-fuels, which I’m not really qualified to comment on.

Manure is also a point where management practices differ. In confinement operations, workers burn fossil fuels manually moving manure away from the livestock. In grazing operations, the animals are left to distribute their manure over the land they graze, where it transforms to organic fertilizer. Manure and sunlight make the grass grow, the grass makes the animals go, and… well, you see where I’m going.

While grazing needs more knowledge and management, the animals are the ones who do the work in this situation. There’s less stress on the animals since they’re only doing what is natural to them.

I do have to share this story, even though it’s of the “my-kid-did-the-cutest-thing” variety. My cows calve out on approximately twenty acres every fall. Our job as caretakers is to go out and treat the calves after the cows have calved, essentially giving them their well-baby shots. This year was unique in that after calving the cows hid their babies in the tall grass and we couldn’t find them for sometimes five days. At first, this concerned me greatly, thinking the babies might be in distress. But when they emerged from hiding, they were healthy and strong, ready to join the herd. I realized eventually that this behavior, in fact, was my cows reverting to their natural behavior. In the wild, deer mothers will hide their offspring, returning to them only once or twice per day, in order that predators don’t scent the young ones. The cows were behaving in much the same way, not even their body language revealing where the calves lay. Once I realized this, it was very cool and exciting to realize that the environment I raised my animals in allowed them to revert to what was natural for them to do, without me having to do a damn thing to “help” them.

So I guess the moral of all this, is that confinement operations are necessary in this high-production world. Who would feed the masses otherwise? But grazing is amazing in its simplicity and the lifestyle that it promotes, for livestock and humans alike.

Friday, March 12, 2010

Why Farmers Often Doubt Their Sanity


Picture this: Yours truly on an open-sided skidsteer, pushing up feed after milking. It’s dark, it’s raining, it’s a typical Thursday night. It’s also March and I’m out in my shirtsleeves pushing up feed in the wind and rain. Why? It would have been too easy to grab a sweatshirt on my way out of the parlor. And as I round the corner and take a blast of cold rain down my back, I realize that I’m so glad I’m here, right now, doing what I’m doing. Why? Not a freaking clue.

Farmers are a crazy lot. You give us a million dollars and we don’t go on a cruise, we don’t spend lavishly on a nice dinner out, what do we do? That’s right, sink it right back into the farm. Even we sit back and scratch our heads over our sanity once in awhile. But it’s involuntary. Like breathing. I think most farmers don’t really know what to do or feel comfortable doing anything else. Sure we do, often out of necessity, but working with livestock or cropping or agriculture in any capacity is almost a dark inner compulsion. You can’t not do it. Not doing it makes you feel restless and ill-at-ease, an itch you can’t scratch. Maybe that’s why when some old farmers can’t get out to the barn anymore they pass away pretty fast. It’s a connection you can’t get from anything else and the lack of it makes you diminish somehow, fade away.

Meanwhile, back on the skidsteer, cold March rain in my face, I’d like to be warm. I’d like a shower after work to be an option, not a necessity. I’d prefer the cows not kicking, shitting, pissing, bleeding, pussing, or puking (it happens) on me. But you know what? I can say “yeah I run a skidsteer in a t-shirt in the rain in March. What’s it to ya?” I can say I’ve done it.

I’m farming.

I wouldn’t be this damn uncomfortable if I wasn’t.