Well the debate is over. The legislature has decided who is a Vermont farmer and who isn't (H.540) according to the tax laws, and whether or not small cheese processing facilities like ours qualify for inclusion in Current Use. Current Use, you will recall, was crafted to give dairy farmers a break on our property taxes. I wonder? Words and papers can now prove you're in farming, but does that make you a real Vermont farmer? Is living in Vermont enough to make you a real Vermonter?
Earlier this week my husband Dan came in late from morning chores. Nothing unusual in that. During "first cut" (of hay) the daily schedule needs sorting out with Dan's brother Denis, and equipment gets prepped and moved from field to field. But this time, when he came in he looked like hell. Something bad had happened.
Dan milks the cows alone, and leaves the parlor to move gates in the dairy barn to access three different groups of cows, separated by days in milk - fresh, mid, and late lactation. I should mention that we have switched from expensive AI (artificial insemination) to using bulls. The price of milk fell so hard and for so long it was inevitable. Bulls are not a good idea as a rule; you need to keep on top of their behavior and "send them" (to slaughter) as soon as they begin to show signs of aggression.
That morning the first group was half done, and Dan was scraping the cross-alley (to clean it). He was next to a water trough and saw the bull going about his business, following a prospective cow. Suddenly the bull turned around. Dan went in to a stall to let him pass by. There was no time to act and no time to think. In two seconds the bull had pinned him mid chest, pushed him up and back against the neck rail at the head of the stall. It squeezed him until he passed out. Dan woke on the ground looking at another group of cows and later reasoned that the bull had rolled him there. He could hear it move behind him, and crawled up and over the rails. Back and chest injured. Couldn't catch his breath. He doubled up for a few minutes until the endorphins kicked in. Then he went back into the pen, retrieved his hat, and the scraper - finished scraping up and went to look for his brother Denis. Dan found him loading a feed wagon.
He was shaky, bruising, but functional - no open wounds or broken bones. Figured he could finish chores, but what to do with the bull? Call McCracken's (the cattle dealer in St. Albans) to have them pick it up? Denis dissuaded him. It was the first day of first cut. There was no time to wait around for the trailer. By Dan's reckoning, there was no time to go to the doctor, either. In his mind, an infection or obstructed breathing - yes, to putting off work. But cracked ribs and swelling around his spine? Definitely not.
After chores the pain returned, and so did an intense desire to grab a pistol and take the bull out of play. Dan decided to mow an alfalfa field instead. Then he did night chores. He mowed the next day, and the next. First cut was finished. He figured that if he's not dead by now, he's not going to die. I told him he needed x-rays to see if he had any broken ribs or internal damage, since the swelling wasn't going down. He said he'll be damned after paying out all that money for health insurance and having it never cover anything that he's going to pay addditional money to have a doctor confirm his own diagnosis. If his pee is clear, then there's no need for concern.
Monday he loaded the bull by himself into our trailer for delivery to the NFO "collection point". (It's closer than McCracken's). He stood atop the stalls with his eyes on multiple exit routes should the bull make any counter moves. He unloaded it as well, but didn't put the back tag (an identifying marker) on it. It was off the farm, it was out of the trailer - time to declare himself lucky and walk away.
Need to discern the real deal? Don't look to the Department of Taxes. Ask a farmer for their bull story.
