The cows are leaving

Today, I read some sad news on my Facebook feed. My high school friend S was having her dairy moved to Nebraska.    The time had finally come to say good bye. Although I haven't seen as much of this friend as much as I would have liked since finishing high school, we always talked about the cows when we did.

 I went to a Jr. high and high school with a very large population of dairy farmers. Many with the names starting with De or Van or Vander something (and they had a problem saying my last name). We were close to the dairies too and it wasn't to uncommon to smell them during early morning breaks and after chapel. 

I remember my friends dairy. She had a golf cart and this other little mini car that we would take for a spin. She would take me to see the cows getting milked. The things they put on those udders where fascinating and could offer a death grip on your finger. I would drink cold fresh milk, bacteria be dammed. That shit was goooood!!! 

I look back fondly on one evening when we headed back from a typical senior year bonfire. She showed us the place where they keep the cotton they feed the cows. A huge barn of it, and we'd climb to the top and dive in. It was good clean fun. I'll miss the smell and the site of the cutest calfs I've ever seen.

Seeing the cows go is more than just  seeing a part of my past leave. It's a reminder that life keeps just keeps moving and as I get older the more likely it is I will see parts of my childhood get paved over. 

The memories of those summers will always be encased in a warm SoCal afternoon. Those wonderful Holstein memories