Day: August 16, 2018

Oh how Ed loved his Brown Swiss cows. They were the heart of his milking program and he told me often they were his best friends in life, which could have been insulting if you didn’t know Ed.

They loved him back, nuzzling him, licking his face, doing their best to follow his orders. I went out to the Bejosh dairy farm where Ed’s son Chad and his wife Kate are working to keep the dairy operation going

Most farmers know, and some will even admit,  that milking cows is an addiction as well as a trade. It is brutal and unrelenting work, there is no money it. and it must be done twice a day, every day, in all kinds of uncomfortable weather.

Jesse, Ed’s youngest son came over to thank Maria and I the other day for getting their parents to go out to dinner on weekdays, something they rarely, if ever, did in their 47 year marriage. They could rarely bring themselves to let anyone else milk their cows, even family.

After each milking, the milking parlor has to be hosed and scrubbed until it glows, state and federal inspections are frequent and unforgiving. It is much more than a job, it is just as powerful an addiction as drugs or alcohol, but much more demanding.

Animal rights groups often target farmers because animal rights groups often have their heads stuck firmly up their asses. They have a well-deserved  reputation for knowing nothing about animals or farmers and only choosing targets that are easy and available.

They don’t seem to bother much with the giant agri-farms where billions of animals lived the most cruel and confined lives.

Perhaps those giant corporate farms are too far from cities and  TV cameras and rich and well-meaning donors. Many of these groups are happy to prey on farmers, who they spy on like Stalin’s secret police, and many farmers are afraid to leave their cows out in the snow or let a horse lie down to sleep.

Farmers are among the world’s greatest animal lovers, and unlike most animal lovers, they live with animals every day, all day. Ed adored his cows, he knew each of their names, birthed most of them, talked to them, scratched and hugged them, monitored their healthy as diligently as any parent. Carol is the same way.

Animals like cows are not pets to them, they are somewhere in between children and farm implements. They love them and relish giving them good and free lives, but they will send them to slaughter in a heartbeat if they can’t milk any longer.

To do otherwise is suicide, no farmer these days can afford to turn a cow into a pet.

So I was happy to go and see them yesterday, and say hello. They seemed happy to stare at me and come over hoping for nuzzle. Maybe tomorrow.

Sadie has lived with Carol and Ed Gulley for 14 years, she is a member of the family in most ways, and thinks nothing of coming into the house to look for food and mischief. Like many goats, she is too smart for her own good and full of mischief.

She has pulled handkerchiefs and keys from my pockets and butted me in the butt. She  used to follow Ed and Carol everywhere, even into the milking parlor. I was visiting the farm yesterday, and  went looking for her, and I found her in empty part of the barn where the calves and chickens once were.

I brought her a lollipop, which she loves and she looked a bit lost to me. She was always hanging around with Ed and Carol, and as always, I wonder what it is that animals know.

But yesterday, she was sitting in the empty barn alone. She was not foraging for food or making trouble, she did love her lollipop. I know she also loves Fig Newtons, maybe I’ll get some of those for my next visit. Ed an Carol both loved her and yakked with her all day.

There is a big hole in her life.

I can imagine the e-mail already, so many animals lovers are sure they know what animals know, but I am not one of those people. We don’t know what animals know, we can only guess and speculate, although few people are willing to ever say “I don’t know.”

I don’t know much more than I know.

Animals are not humans, they are an alien species, they are different from us.

Sadie looked upset to me, I am sure she is aware of Ed’s absence and Carol’s grief and distraction. Life is so different on the farm, so many of the big barns and buildings feel empty.

Carol has not been working on the farm while Ed was sick, and Ed, of course is gone. That it a big difference and I could feel it myself, and goats are sensitive creatures. I know animals have emotions, and I know they don’t have our emotions, any more than squirrels do,  even if they can sense them.

Beyond that, it is a mystical thing for me.

Sadie was affectionate, I think she was glad to see me. I scratched her on the chin and gave her another lollipop. Farm animals are wise, and they are adaptable. Sadie will adjust.

“What do you know?,” I asked her in a whisper, and she looked into my eyes and I saw some bewilderment and confusion, and yes, something akin to sadness. She is, I am sure, keenly aware that her world has changed for good.

That’s what I saw, not what I know. I will try to visit Sadie again today.

Maria and I went to Bejosh Farm yesterday to visit with Carol and the family, and it was the first time I’d been to the annex which Ed built recently by himself and where he spent the last few months of his life.

I didn’t feel his spirit there yesterday, but I imagine I will feel it around the farm. It was just strange not to see him there. It was his final space, he was at home there.

The crow we got for Carol – his name is Arnold – is still in his position near where Ed’s hospital bed was. Yesterday hospice workers came to take out the bed and the oxygen and the medical supplies.

So the room felt a bit eerie, and empty. I had some beautiful moments in there, and this was where Ed wanted to be, where he was most comfortable. Today there is a calling service at the farm, I think Ed is arriving in a horse-drawn wagon in a closed casket.

The service will be in an open field, a corn field right near the farmhouse. That’s what Ed wanted.

The funeral service will be on Sunday. I don’t think I can be there.

Ed is being buried in a family plot in  his camo clothes and white socks. I’ll be there and will take a few photos and share them. The family would like some pictures.

Soccer team and refugee news: On Monday, the soccer team will head for Ramblewild, a team and confidence building forest experience in the Berkshires. I hope to join them for lunch. We have all the funds we need for the trip and thanks.

We are in day two of fund-raising for the Soccer Team’s Back To School Fund, we are raising money to buy school supplies, shoes, pants and shirts for five members of the team who are entering American high school for the first time.

As Ali recalls from his own experience in high school, clothes matter much  more to Americans than to the soccer players, but they are singled out quickly if they are wearing used or outdated clothes.

We are looking to raise about $700 to buy these five children what they need to cross the threshold of high school in comfort and some personal style.

It’s not about fashion, it’s about fitting in.

Their parents – most have single parents – work in the only minimum wage jobs that are available to new refugees, most of whom don’t speak much if any English, at least for now. They work as many hours as they can at  Wal-Mart, grocery store chains, and hotel and office cleaning jobs.

They just have no extra money, after rent and food.

They get their clothes for their children from Goodwill and church collection boxes. We’d like to do better, especially for high school. We only need about $400 more dollars to complete the fund, which I hope will be a regular event for the Army Of Good.

Some of you contributed yesterday, and thanks. I  hope to raise the rest today, school is only a week or so away. If you can and wish to contribute, you can send your donation to The Gus Fund, c/o Jon Katz. P.O. Box 205 Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or via Paypal, [email protected].

And thanks. Small acts of great kindness. It will make a big difference to them. I’m excited about Ramblewild, I think it will be a great experience for them. Some have never been as far from Albany as the Berkshires (only an hour away.)