Morning Milking

It was a bright, bitterly cold morning.  As I came in after the morning milking and then handmilking a neighboring farm’s dairy cow, I felt depleted of energy and thankful for a hot cup of coffee.  By 9 am it was 9 degrees.  There’s just no point in knowing what it was when I arrived at the barn a quarter before 6.

The farm down the road always feels even colder.  It has a more open landscape with less protection from gusts of wind.  The cold just finds its home there, it seems.

Even with a bite in the air, the light in the three sided barn where I milk is soft and warm in the morning.  My whole body was clenched in the cold and I felt as though I was being obliged to kneel for morning prayers.

And, inevitably, she listened.

As I crouched beside her, she shared her warmth and my hands began to lose their stiffness with the work. Looking beyond the milk pale as I settled into a two handed rhythm, I found some peace in those few moments and it flooded me with gratitude.

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