Anonymous cows spend their days and their nights and regular seen as countryside sights, of mixed colours roaming in roadside fields grazing tendered pastures to raise their yields. An era of milk trade as high tech as it got with electric milk floats and bottles of gold top and highlight dairy, the rising star, delivering goodness and raising the bar.
Historical hard winters and remembering those, cold mornings on tractor when the diesel did froze, with waxed up diesel in the fuel lines, farming was harder back in those times.
So getting the milk from fields to doorstep, ingenious thinking and manicured pre-prep, fields grazed, milk filtered and completely analysed, through dairy factory and subsequently pasteurised. During the process was the point when, the suits and the rule makers realised, worse for the public and better for them, invent shit process known as homogenised. Creamed off and sold off and plastic containerised, coloured bottle top forgotten and tasteless milk standardised.
Forgotten is tough and hard farming ways, staying up for eighteen hour days, to bring that milk from cow to door drop, suppose most don’t consider how all that milk got, or where it came from even to say, as cows you hardly see much more these days. Remembering when they was mostly outside and the natural course of the seasons decide, only during winter did they stay in the stalls waiting for spring when green grass calls.
Wait until the nitro- grass grows for one of farmings greatest shows, outside they goes in stampede rush, commonly knows as the great spring push. But farming has changed sadly to say and now it’s run the super market way, so public goes and buys their milk from floor to ceiling stacked to the hilt. Pictures of cows would educate some so they had some idea of where their milk come from, hardly as much as that to show just plastic bottles lined up in rows.
The poor old cow if only she knew after all the trouble that she went to, larking and grazing and playing around and chewing the cud when she’s lying down. All for the dairy the life long grind, but sadly she’s out of sight and out of mind.
Of legends are us. 