Road to sanctuary: Part 2

A series of articles about how the LFS came to be

Winter 2009-10

Read Part 1 here.

Dear Friends,

Wayne Geiger.

It wasn’t long after seeing the “drop” calves at the auction yard in Petaluma, CA, that I remember experiencing the same beginnings of a calf’s life take place at home. What I didn’t know at the time was that it was a common practice to separate the cow from the calf shortly after birth. I was told the purpose of this was to make sure the calf didn’t drink all of the milk; train the calf to nurse from the bottle and get the cow back into milking string.

Eventually, I realized that this didn’t make sense. For approximately the first three days of lactation following the birth of the calf, the cow’s milk contains colostrum—that very important first milk that provides the calf with antibodies passed to the calf from the cow. (This first milk is thick and yellow and not suitable for human consumption.) I was told the calf is removed quickly after birth to prevent the cow from bonding with her calf. Yet, I clearly remember the cow being very distraught over this whole process as she bellowed repeatedly looking for her newborn. The now-bewildered calf standing on wobbly legs would try to find the source of its mother’s calls. This went on for several days until the cries would eventually subside.

Being a backyard farmer with the sole intent of producing food for the family, we now had two large food sources. For about nine months, we would get milk from the lactating cow, and after about two years we would butcher the calf for meat for the freezer. This scenario would repeat itself year after year. The cow would be bred each year to produce a calf and to provide milk for the table. We would even churn the cream for butter and any excess milk would be sold to the local creamery that was still picking up the milk cans once a week as we set them out by the road.

Since the cows and calves lived on our farm on green pastures with a dry barn and the family to take good care of them (this was considered normal), I didn’t think a whole lot about it. I was just a kid doing what the family did. I didn’t know much about dairy farms, veal, and CAFO’s (Confined Animal Feeding Operations). It wasn’t until later in my life that I saw a dairy farm with those glorious herds of Holsteins, Jerseys and the Guernseys. One dairy even had the now-fairly-rare Milking Shorthorns with the deep red to cinnamon coats. To this day, they are still one of my favorites. But there were two things I saw there that I didn’t see at home. Yes, cows still were able to forage out on pasture, but the drop calves were often seen in the back dark recesses of the main barn tethered by a baling string around the neck waiting for their next liquid meal being fed out of a bottle or a bucket. These calves we so desperate for attention they lacked: the lick and nuzzle from its mom and being able to nurse when hungry or lay in the sun. Without mom, they would stretch their necks out looking for something that would come close to the comforts recently torn away from them.

The second thing, usually twice a day, the cows would follow long cement paths up to the “Milking Parlor” to have the milk forced out of them by the monotonous sound of machines. I have to say I never understood why it was called a “Parlor.” I think of a parlor as a place to relax, share a cookie and drink some hot beverage while chit chatting with good friends. Milking Parlors didn’t offer any of that to these cows.

Eventually, some things would change. Usually not for the better, as we’ll see in upcoming issues of Lighthouse Letters. There is a lot going on right now with veal calf reform. One thing’s for sure: if you are ever lucky enough to see the big dark eyes of a newborn calf, that should be enough to change your mind…forever!

Thank you,

Wayne S. Geiger, President/Director