JOSEPH EARNEST AND HIS COW “COMFORT.” A STORY OF THE WESTERN RESERVE.

BY S. B. MORRIS, CHARLESTOWN, PORTAGE CO., O.

The luxury of having fresh milk, cream, and butter, may be enjoyed by every family in city, town, or hamlet, that can provide a cow with the necessaries expressed in one word—comfort. To show what may be done in this respect, allow me to give somewhat of the history of Joseph Earnest. Joseph’s father was a carpenter, and never kept a horse or cow. After giving his son the best education he could receive at the common school, he kept him at work with himself until Joseph also became a master carpenter. At the time our story commences, he is married and has a family of three children, a girl of eight, a boy of six years, and a baby. By industry, economy, and good habits, he had accumulated sufficient means to purchase a half-acre lot in the outskirts of a flourishing manufacturing town. Upon this lot he had built a small but comfortable house. His wife, the daughter of a well-to-do farmer, having a little property of her own, invested it in the vacant lot adjoining them. The winter previous Joseph had put up a building which was to serve the double purpose of barn and workshop. The barn for his visiting friends, the workshop for himself. Back of this building, and adjacent to it, was a small hennery in which were kept a few fowls; at one side was a shed for his gardening implements. Everything about the premises showed the owner was neat and orderly, as well as thrifty, while within the snug cottage the same virtues reigned supreme. Many a time did Mary look back to the old home-life on the farm, and think of the plentiful products of the dairy. Then she would say to Joseph, “How I wish we could keep a cow. It seems as though I cannot half cook with only one quart of milk a day, and the children would be so much healthier if they could have what milk they want.” Joseph agreed with her, and would add, “But you know Mary we cannot raise our own vegetables and fruit, and keep a cow, with only one acre of land.” Imagine her surprise, when, after a short absence one morning, Joseph returned leading a cow. He was soon surrounded by his family and plied with questions, such as: Whose is she? Where did you get her? What will you do with her? In answer to these questions Joseph replied, “I went over to Mr. Durham’s this morning, to see if he could pay me what was back on the work I did for him last fall. I found him feeding his cattle and made known my errand. He said he had no money at present, but was wanting to sell a cow, and as soon as he could would pay me. I asked him which cow he wanted to sell; he pointed out this one, which was smaller than the others and seemed driven by them. Not a very large cow, he said, but young, with some Jersey blood in her—better for a family cow than for a factory cow. I say Earnest, she is just what you need, with your family. But I’ve no place to put her, said I, and I don’t know how to take care of a cow. Nonsense, said he, put her in your stable for the present, and you’ll learn how to take care of her fast enough. But what shall I feed her? Why the money you pay Churchill for milk, with what you can raise on your lot, will keep your cow right along, and instead of one quart a day, you’ll have all the milk and cream and butter you want to use, and some to spare, and, Mary, I thought it wouldn’t break us up if it didn’t prove a success, so I took the cow on what he was owing me—twenty five dollars—and here she is.”

“Oh, Joseph, I am so glad you bought her, I do believe we can keep her,” said Mary, “how gentle she seems,”—for during the talk the children had been petting the cow, who appeared well pleased with her new acquaintances. The baby partaking of the general animation, crowed with delight, as though already anticipating the good time coming.

“She has behaved like a baby coming over here,” said Joseph, “and I declare I begin to love her already. I have always wished we could live where we could have animals around us, and perhaps we will some day.” Mary said she hoped they could, for she felt lonesome for them. “But what shall we name our cow? For my part I would like to call her ‘Comfort,’ and while she contributes to our comfort we will endeavor to do the same for her.” Joseph agreed to the name, saying he needed plenty to eat and drink, a good bed and pleasant home, and he believed that animals did too, so he would give her one of his nice roomy stalls in his barn, make her a bed of shavings from the shop until he could do better. “We have pure water for her to drink, with hay and vegetables to eat, and that will keep her alive until we learn what she will thrive on best.” As this was a “broken” day, he thought they had better get neighbor Manning’s horse and carry-all, and drive out to father Granger’s. He had always been a good farmer and could tell him just how to care for the cow. All were delighted with this plan and were soon enjoying a six-mile drive into the country.

He learned that a cow would eat almost anything that grows, but that judgment and experience was needed in feeding to produce the best results. Father Granger said they could keep a cow as well as not, and better too, and Joseph began to believe it. At the suggestion of father G. he borrowed a bag, and on his way home stopped at the grist mill and had it filled with bran, which the old gentleman said was about the best feed for a cow just before coming in. After arriving home “Comfort” received a feed of hay and a quart of bran—had a drink of fresh water, her stable cleaned, some fresh shavings given her for a bedding, and with kind pats and words was left for the night. In the evening bedding was talked over. Joseph thought he would get the privilege of gathering leaves from a wood lot about one half mile distant, but Mary thought they would be too wet at this season, then sawdust was suggested, but that was not quite the thing they concluded, that is, if they could think of anything better. To be perfect it must be comfortable for the cow to stand or lie upon, it must be an absorbent of liquid manure, and something that would add to the value of the compost heap, and would easily decompose. Suddenly Joseph exclaimed, “I have it, just the thing. You remember I went out to N. last fall to do a job of work for Charlie Curtiss’s brother, and when he came to bring me home, with my tools, he put a large top box on his wagon box, and also put in a number of sacks. I asked him what he was going to bring home and he said ‘oat shucks’ to bed his cows with—that the shucks were dry and bulky, and for fifty cents you could get all you could draw at a load. He said it was the best and cheapest bedding he could get, and much more than paid for itself in the value of the manure. That is just what we want, and I will get Charlie to draw me a load to-morrow.” So the next night “Comfort” laid down for the first time in her life on a “first-class” bed of oat shucks, while the adjoining stall was filled full for future use.

“Joseph, what are you going to do with that lumber Charlie left here to-day?” said Mary, a few evenings later. “Well I have been thinking ‘Comfort’ ought to have a little yard where she can walk around and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. I am going to build a fence from the farther corner of the hennery to the fence on the back side of the lot, and one from the corner of the shed back, and that will make her a good yard. Those two English cherry trees will come in it and furnish shade for her in the hottest weather.”

Another evening, as Joseph came home from work, Mary asked, “What in the world are you going to do with these,” as she drew from the bundle a card and brush. “Which of the family are you going to use these on?”—“Oh, I thought they would be good things to have in the house,” said Joseph, laughing. “You know I started out early this morning to go around by Mason’s, to see about repairing his house this next summer. He is one of the best of farmers, all his stock look thrifty—everything is up in order, and he makes farming pay. I found him in the stable carding and brushing his cows. That was a new idea to me, and I asked him if he thought it really paid him to spend so much time and labor on his cows. Well, said he, I’ve had the care of cattle nigh on to thirty years, and I think my carding and brushing pay as well as anything I can do, and there is nothing an animal enjoys more than having its coat combed.”

“What did Mr. Mason say about the work.”—“He is going to have his house thoroughly repaired, and I am glad to say your husband has the job, and he is going to keep his eyes and ears open and learn what he can about farming.”

Joseph had bought a load of fine hay a farmer was taking into town to market, and “Comfort” was now fed hay three times a day, with two quarts of bran night and morning. At noon there was something from the house also, like potato and apple peelings, small potatoes, wilted turnips or beets, cut up cabbage leaves, etc. The children thought it nice fun to feed her at noon. Some loose bars had been put up to her stall which was quite roomy, and she did not have to be driven into it by some of the men and all of the boys in the neighborhood, but when the gate of the yard was opened she walked briskly to her stall, knowing she would find a good supper waiting for her. Humane care, the plenty of food and drink, given regularly, have wrought in a month’s time a great change in the appearance of “Comfort.” From being a poorly fed “whipped” cow in a dairy, suffering all the discomfort of stanchions for eighteen out of twenty-four hours, with no bed but a bare floor—she has come to be a thrifty, happy animal, giving good promise of rewarding her owners well for their care. One morning the first week in April, Joseph came in from the barn looking pleased, but a little anxious. “Children,” he said, “what do you think I found at the barn this morning?”—“Oh, a bossy,” they said, delighted with the idea.—“Yes, ‘Comfort’ has a little ‘comfort,’ and she is very proud of it; but now comes the rub, who is to milk, and what is to be done with the calf?”—“Oh,” said Mary, “I guess I have not quite forgotten how to milk yet, and you can soon learn—‘never too old to learn,’ you know. I will go out after breakfast and milk out what the calf does not take, and you can go around by Mr. Mason’s and ask him what we had better do with the calf.” Joseph felt these were good suggestions, and after standing by Mary, in more than one sense, while she performed her part of the programme—which was successfully accomplished—he started for work by way of farmer Mason’s. Arriving there he made known his errand. “Well,” said Mr. M., “you can ‘deacon’ it or veal it. Don’t many but dairymen follow the first way, and I should advise you to let it have all the milk it wants for four or five weeks, and the butcher will take it and pay you five or six dollars. Put the calf by itself, and night and morning let it go to the cow and get its own milk.” When Joseph arrived home that evening, he partitioned off a corner of the barn with some barrels and boxes, put in some bedding, and put the calf in his new quarters. Then he tried his hand at milking, Mary standing by him this time, telling him what to do, and laughing a little at his awkward efforts, yet encouraging him by saying he did splendidly for the first trial. “Comfort” rewarded him for his kindness to her, by being very patient with his awkwardness, and he daily improved in the art of milking, so that while vealy was getting his fill, he would get about two or three quarts as his share.

The latter part of April Joseph commenced work for Mr. Mason, and as his work-bench was at one end of the barn floor, he had a good opportunity for observation. He noticed Mr. M. fed his cows corn meal, and asked him what feed he considered best for cows giving milk at this time of the year. Mr. M. said, in his experience he had found there were three things to be considered in the care of cows. Health of the cow, quantity and quality of the milk. Plenty of wholesome food and pure water (also a little salt each day), given regularly, out of door exercise in pleasant weather, and general good care will give the first. “Clover hay, corn fodder, wheat bran or ground oats, with some roots, will keep up the flow of milk,” said he, “but if you want thick cream, and plenty of golden butter, feed your cow corn meal. When my cows are in milk and kept on dry feed, I give each cow daily, morning and evening, four quarts of mixed feed, one part, by weight, of wheat bran and two parts of corn meal, with about one tablespoonful of salt. We make more and better butter on this feed than when the cows have grass only.”

Joseph, having no experience of his own, was glad to use that of others in regard to his cow, so from this time he began feeding “Comfort” corn meal, beginning with a pint and increasing gradually to one quart; the result being plainly seen in the improved quality of the milk and condition of the calf. When this was five weeks old the butcher took it away giving five dollars for it, and seemed much pleased with his bargain.

That evening Joseph figured a little. He found his bran and corn meal had cost three dollars and fifty-five cents, so there was a balance of one dollar and forty-five cents from the calf to pay on the hay. They had had from three to four quarts of milk per day, of better quality than that they could have bought for six cents a quart. Thirty days, three and one-half quarts a day, at six cents a quart, is six dollars and thirty cents. By stabling and bedding the cow, quite a quantity of good manure had accumulated, and Joseph felt very well satisfied, so far, with his experiment, and most of all for the luxury of having good sweet milk for the family use. It was now the middle of May, grass was well started, and as there were farms near them, it was thought best to hire pasture for the summer. By inquiry they found she could be pastured one-fourth mile from home. This seemed too far to carry the milk, and would take too much time to drive back and forth twice a day. “Why not keep her at home nights, and feed her something as we do now,” said Mary; “she will be glad to come home then. Father always feeds his cows bran in the summer; he says it pays in their ‘coming up’ if in nothing else. He goes to the gate and calls ‘come boss,’ and they all start as quickly as if he had said, ‘come to supper,’ and it is that to them.” So it was decided to keep “Comfort” home nights. In a few days “Comfort” was introduced to her summer range, and quickly learned the way to and from the pasture, and the children thought it a great pleasure to drive her to and fro.

“Joseph,” said Mary, about this time, “what shall we do with the sour milk? The neighbors will take some of it at two cents a quart, but the demand is irregular, and it don’t seem right to throw it away. Don’t you think we better get a pig?”—“Perhaps so; as we are in for experiments this year we might try that also. Mason has some nice pigs—two kinds. One kind make large growthy animals, the other kind are smaller but finer, and would be best for us, I think.” Soon a pig was added to their farm stock. Joseph declared he would not try to live without a cow again if it cost twice as much to take care of her. “Why we didn’t know what good living was until ‘Comfort’ came to live with us, did we, children?”—“No, indeed, only when we went to grand-pa’s.”—“Look at this baby,” said Mary, “she never was so well before, and she is getting as rosy and round as a Maidenblush apple. You can’t think what a help the milk is to me in cooking. I can always have something fresh and nice now, and it will lessen our meat bill too.”

Some of the neighbors wanted to buy milk; “Comfort” was giving sixteen quarts a day. So four neighboring families were supplied each with one quart of milk a day, and after a week’s trial Mary reported she had made five pounds of butter that was worth twenty cents per pound, grocery price. They had sold twenty-eight quarts of milk at six cents a quart, butter and milk amounting to two dollars and sixty-eight cents, and they had used all the sweet milk, cream, sour milk and butter-milk they needed, and the pig had been kept on the surplus of the last two. Joseph was now feeding “Comfort” as Mr. Mason advised, with corn meal and bran, two-thirds of the former and one-third of the latter by weight, giving three quarts of the mixture night and morning. Corn meal cost one cent per pound, bran cost two-thirds of a cent a pound, the cost of the feed per day being a fraction over seven cents. He also gave her a little hay—to the value of say ten cents a week—pasture cost twenty-five cents a week, so the expense of her keeping was eighty-five cents a week, the work offsetting the milk used, left a profit of one dollar and eighty-three cents. There was another item not to be overlooked. The manure that was accumulating, the value of which was largely increased by the ground feed given the cow, and the oat shuck bedding. Of the acre of land about one-quarter was occupied with buildings, walks, shrubbery, a small lawn in front, and flower garden at the side of the house, but every foot of intervening space was well seeded to grass, so it really made quite a little mowing. Another quarter had been set out to fruit trees five years, and was now well stocked with red clover, the remaining one-half acre had been used as a garden and potato patch. With the exception of a few loads of manure, obtained at different places, no fertilizer had been used on this acre of land. But now having gone into the stock business, Joseph began to read and think about such things. He frequently brought home an agricultural paper from Mr. Mason’s to read in the evening, and began also to feel he must have one of his own. He found considerable in the papers about commercial fertilizers, so he asked Mr. Mason if he had ever used any of them. He said he had experimented with them considerably, and thought them excellent helps. “I have never,” said he, “paid out money for anything that came back as quickly with as good profit, as superphosphates. These and other fertilizers must be used with judgment to get the best returns, but on gravelly soil, with a clay subsoil like ours here, it pays well.” Joseph also asked Mr. M. what he could raise on his lot to the best advantage for his cow. “I should say sowed corn and mangel wurzels. You see this little lot at the back of the barn, it is ten square rods, and very rich ground.

CORN FODDER.

“I sow this to corn in drills about this time (the last of May), so that it gets well tasseled by the time pastures begin to get rather dry, as they usually do after the middle of summer, then I begin to feed, and it helps keep up the flow of milk amazingly. It is a sweet, juicy and nutritious feed, just the thing for cows. Let me calculate a little. Why Earnest, if your land could be made to produce like this piece, you can raise coarse fodder enough for your cow for six months, on thirty square rods of ground. I like some roots for cows—we like a variety of food, so do animals. The best roots I know of to raise for stock are sugar beets or the mangels.”

Very soon after this conversation Joseph had his half acre of land plowed deep and in narrow furrows, as he had seen recommended in agricultural papers. The manure that had accumulated from the cow was used for a top-dressing for one half of the plowed portion. This was well harrowed, and three-fourths of it lightly furrowed with the plow, two and one half feet apart. The remaining one-fourth was turned into ridges as close as the furrows could be turned together. His team work was now done for the present on this part of his lot especially set apart for his cow. (The other half of the plowed lot was to be used for his main family garden, he having spaded up some beds for early vegetables.) He had provided himself with seed corn from farmer Mason’s, some mangel wurzel seed from the seed store, and also a bag of two hundred pounds of phosphate, of a brand recommended by Mr. M. The phosphate was sprinkled in the plow marks, at the rate of three hundred pounds to the acre, as near as could be judged, the soil in the bottom of the furrow was lightly stirred with a four pronged potato hook, the corn was sprinkled in, about eight kernels to the foot [sixteen to twenty is better—Ed.,] and covered about two inches deep. One half of the piece designed for corn was planted, and the other half left to be treated in the same way some two weeks later. The top was raked off the ridges designed for the mangels. A furrow was made on each with a hand hoe, and phosphate sprinkled in rather more liberally than for the corn. This was thoroughly mixed with the soil, the furrow becoming nearly level with the surface. A line was drawn by which a light mark was made with the end of the hoe handle, in which the mangel seeds were sown and covered about one inch deep, the soil being pressed down lightly with the hoe. After saving enough phosphate for the balance of the corn, and a little to experiment with on some late potatoes, the remainder was sown broadcast on the clover. It fell a little short of covering the whole, and Joseph thought that would make a good opportunity to test its virtues. His seeds came up well, and, as he had all he could attend to nights and mornings, he hired a neighbor to do his farm work, and he determined no weeds should have the benefit of his fertilizers or soil; and this part of his programme was thoroughly carried out during the growing season.

SUMMER QUARTERS.

In “Comfort’s” yard was a corner formed by the barn on one side, the hennery on another, and the board fence on a third side. Joseph put a roof over this corner, and about a foot deep of oatshucks on the ground, and fastened a box to the side of the barn for her to eat out of; and here were her summer quarters. Every morning before milking the droppings were cleaned up and piled in one corner of the yard. As soon as the clover began to blossom, an armful was cut each evening and fed to “Comfort” after her ration of dry feed, and the morning feed was discontinued. After the corn was large enough, that took the place of clover until frost threatened; then it was cut up and bound in small bundles, which were set up in large stooks, to cure for winter use.

No difference was observed in the first crop of clover in favor of the phosphate, but the second cutting was largely benefited by its use. Over one-half of the first and second cuttings were cured and stored in the barn, with all of the grass around the yard, which, with fully two-thirds of the stalks, would be nearly, if not quite enough coarse feed to last “Comfort” through the winter. The mangels yielded about twenty-five bushels, not a very large yield, but quite satisfactory, considering the soil had not really been farmed but one year. The roots were pitted near the barn for spring use. Some of the corn stalks were set so as to form a slanting roof over them; three or four inches of dirt thrown over this; afterwards enough to keep them from freezing.

About the first of November, “Comfort” was established in winter quarters in the stall, at night and during stormy days, and in the yard on pleasant days. She continued in milk until the middle of February, and was in fresh milk March eighteenth, was hearty and contented—a comfort to look at as well as to own. Joseph Earnest was well pleased with his year’s experiment.

CONCLUSIONS.

It is now three years since he brought comfort to his home in more ways than one. His little farm is improving every year in fertility and value, and even now blossoms like a thing of beauty. Some of his neighbors have followed his example, for he tells them:

“Any one who has a place to put a cow can keep one with profit, if he will make her comfortable; that it matters not whether protection from the weather is secured by logs, straw, sods, rough boards, or planed boards well painted. She must have exercise, sunshine, and fresh air. These can be obtained in a small dry yard, kept clean, as well as in ‘Uncle Sam’s’ pasture, the open prairie. She must have something of a variety of wholesome food, and a plentiful supply of pure water. No domestic animal, in proportion to its weight, needs as much water as a milch cow. She must be kept clean by litter, card, and brush. If these rules are observed with judgment and kindness, very seldom will any help be needed at time of calving. If anything goes wrong there is no better rule than to use one’s common sense, taking the advice of experienced neighbors.

“To economize manure, an abundance of good litter should be used, and the compost heap kept under cover, if possible; at any rate, not under the eaves of the barn. If, with this home-made manure, your land does not produce all it can, and you wish to buy some fertilizing material, your first choice should be good stable manure; if you cannot get that reasonably, use some reliable brand of commercial fertilizer. Have your cow ‘come in’ when it will be most for your profit or convenience, avoiding hot weather. The calf may be killed when one to three days old, saving its hide and rennet; it may be kept until five or six weeks old, fed on new milk, and ‘vealed,’ or sold for that purpose, or it may be raised on skim-milk (after it is three or four weeks old), and sold in the fall to some farmer.

“Milking should be done gently but quickly, as near twelve hours apart as possible. Milk clean but do not “strip;” use the whole hand, and not the thumb and finger only; sing or whistle, if you want to while milking; if you are good friends with your cow, she will enjoy it.

“Since the first year I have not bought any coarse feed, and only a little fertilizer for grass and clover, the cow and pig furnishing all that is needed for the plowed ground, and this last year I have a surplus of feed. I tell you, friends, my cow is the best savings bank I ever knew.”

This and much more said Joseph Earnest to his neighbors.