Let me tell you about the roast I cooked

Normally I'd save roasts for times when we have company, but I was anxious to see what the meat from our steer was going to be like.  At the butcher shop up the road, they weigh the meat they're going to put into hamburger, then grind everybody's hamburger together.  It's much easier for them that way.  Cliff butchered for many years, and he understands why they do this, although it isn't how they did it at the Country Butcher Shop where he worked.  Anyhow, when we use our ground beef, it isn't just our animal, but a combination of meat from many cows.  
We didn't save any roasts from the last steer we had butchered, because he was a dwarf-looking animal of indeterminate age.  I only bought him so my heifer, Secret, who turned out to be sterile, would not be the only cow on the place.  When I realized Secret was never going to breed, we had her friend butchered and sold her.  
This steer (I am being nice and not calling him by name, in case that would bother some of my readers) was only one year old, and really big and fat as Jerseys go.  Cliff decided to take the risk and have some steaks and roasts made.  
We have raised and butchered our own beef before; we've also had quality beef quarters from a butcher shop.  But we have never tasted any beef this flavorful and tender. 
I don't know if it's because he was still getting two gallons of his mother's milk daily, or because he was so young.  
I could eat roast this good every day, but I won't; I'll save the others for when we have company.

answering questions about our beef

Please ignore the different font sizes:  For some reason when I copied and pasted the questions from my comment section, Blogger then refused to allow me to make all my paragraphs the same size.  Go figure.  


 I was asked a couple of questions about our newly-processed meat:
  
I'm mostly known as 'MA' said...That is a lot of beef. Do you eat it all or give some away. We used to get a half a beef and even that was a lot of meat. Considering where it came from I'd say it's going to be choice meat fit for royalty. 
It truly is a lot of beef, but beef keeps well in the freezer for a long time.  And our whole beef may not have any more meat than the half-beef you used to buy; Sir was a Jersey, which is a small dairy breed, and he was butchered at almost exactly one year of age.  Beef breeds such as Angus and Hereford, and so many others, are usually butchered, I believe, between the ages of eighteen months and two years.  Beef type animals yield a higher percentage of meat from a carcass than dairy breeds, and have usually been fed quite a bit of grain in a feedlot; this makes the meat marble nicely, and produces good, tender meat, and more of it.  We have the biggest portion of our beef put into ground beef, and the few roasts and steaks we ask for have no bone.  Cliff tells me the bones would take up a lot of room in the deep freeze.  

Our freezer is medium-sized, and there wasn't quite room for all the meat we brought home.  That's OK, because Cliff's sister next door has a tiny little freezer, and she had made room for some of the meat; so she has a good supply of beef handy if she gets a hankering for chili or meat loaf.  If my daughter and her family want some ground beef, all they have to do is come and raid the freezer.  We also took a few pounds to the neighbor across the road who has so often blessed us with catfish ready for the pan.  

I do hope when Bonnie calves next month that she has a heifer, because this meat will easily last us for two years.  I don't need another steer.

Amy said... Do you keep the head?! That's how barbacoa is made! (good stuff....I had it for breakfast yesterday....and fairly expensive, considering it's made from a part most people would turn their nose up at....)

No, Amy, they don't even give the option of keeping the head, although I imagine a person could ask to keep it.  I wouldn't turn my nose up at anything made of the head; I like brains and sweetbreads, although I haven't had either since Cliff's days of working at a butcher shop.   I like mountain oysters, too.  But of course, that's from the other end of the cow.  
Here's how the invoice read:  1 beef slaughter, $15.  480 pounds cooling, aging, cutting, wrapping, $187.20  16 pounds liver, heart, tongue and tail, $6.24.  And 1 Waste Removal & boxing fee, $15.00.

Meat for the freezer

We went up the road a mile to pick up the meat from the steer we had butchered.  Processing cost was $224, which seemed like a lot to Cliff because when he worked at a butcher shop in the '70's, it would have been about $60.  "Yeah, but gasoline was fifty cents a gallon then, " I told him.  

Cliff helped load the boxes into our trunk; we wondered if the trunk was big enough.


It was, barely; and our Mercury Grand Marquis has a big trunk.  

Sir Loin started like this, and my readers helped name him;

he grew as big as his mom...

And ended up like this.  All in the space of one year.  

Despite what Cliff considers the high cost of having him butchered, I say that's pretty cheap beef, considering Sir Loin was raised on free stuff:  his mom's milk and the abundant grass on our place.

The circle of life

Cliff was asked to be a pallbearer at his Uncle Phineas' funeral, which was held yesterday at the same place where we bade goodbye to his parents, his grandparents, and most of his other relatives who have died up to this point.  Now that it's getting close to our generation's turn, the funerals are likely to be spread more widely around the country.  I'll bet I've been to a couple of dozen funerals at Kidwell's over the years.  
Because it was a nice day with no rain forecast, Cliff and I rode to Versailles on the motorcycle.  It's a two-hour drive one way through picturesque Missouri countryside.  
Uncle Phin was eighty-nine years old, a World War II veteren; so he was buried with military honors. Quite impressive, as always, in its simplicity.  
Once the graveside goodbyes were said, Cliff's sister and I wondered if we could find their parents' graves.  I knew if the younger sister were with us, she could lead us right to the spot.  Versailles cemetery is a large one, and it was too hot a day to be searching out markers.  I was, however, fairly certain that Cliff's grandparents' grave wasn't far away, and we went looking for that.  

And there it was!

I remembered that Uncle George's grave was near their marker, and we soon located it, too.  Uncle George really liked me, which of course made him a favorite of mine.  He lived in a cabin in the woods where Cliff and I would occasionally visit him and spend a night, early in our marriage; it was pretty primitive:  Uncle George got his drinking water from an open spring, and although there was an outhouse on the place, it was filled up with junk and therefore not usable.  When nature called, there was nothing else to do but find a convenient tree behind which to hide.  Let's not talk about the ticks that thrived in the woods and hitch-hiked back to the cabin after such a mission.  
I once wrote a song about Uncle George and his cabin, long after he passed away.  


Speaking of the circle of life...

Remember when you, my readers, helped name this little fellow?
He goes to the butcher shop today to become grass-fed beef for our freezer.  He is one year old and outweighs his mother.  It's time.  He's had a wonderful life and given me lots of laughs with his antics.  His mom will get a few weeks of rest, and then deliver a little whiteface calf, good Lord willing.  I really, really hope for a heifer calf, as I always do.  But once the sperm has met the egg, there's no changing the outcome.  So it's just wait-and-see.  
I hesitated to mention Sir Loin's imminent demise, knowing how much complaining I've read online about what goes on at Pioneer Woman's ranch.  Folks, if you eat beef, you may very well have eaten a product that spent part of it's life on the Drummond ranch.  So get over it.  If you are going to eat meat, some animal has to die for you.  That's just life.  And before they die, those animals must be herded and branded and castrated and sorted and weaned.  All of which may seem cruel to sheltered city folks.  
I do not feel bad eating meat that comes from an animal that enjoyed life and was loved and laughed at while he was here.  

Poor Mama Cow

I kept Sir Loin away from his mother for ten hours today, then opened the gate and let them be together. I expected him to go running to her and start nursing, but he was in no hurry. Watch the video and you'll see her kicking in discomfort, but he keeps on sucking, and she puts up with it. For at least twenty-four hours, I won't have to worry about milking Bonnie.

Jerseys are small cows, and Sir Loin's father was listed on Bonnie's registration paper as a registered Jersey. I have my doubts, though. He isn't even six months old, and look at the size of him compared to his mom!

Fresh pasture

Cliff sowed the former alfalfa field with three kinds of grass seed a few weeks ago. Rains have been plentiful, and the grass grew nicely. We've always kept this patch surrounded by electric fence anytime there's a crop growing.

Some time this winter after a snowfall, Cliff will inter-seed clover into the grass that's already established... grass that has grown so tall that he's afraid the little clover seeds might not make it through the dense growth to the earth. So he figured it wouldn't hurt to graze it some. The horses don't need it. But Bonnie could use it, and cows don't nip grass right to the ground like horses do. The problem was this: how to give Bonnie access and yet keep the horses out.

So Cliff fixed up this rather elaborate entryway to allow Bonnie and Sir Loin to safely get into the plot without the slightest risk of getting shocked. It only took one can of feed to lure Bonnie in the first time, and she's been going in and out to her heart's content ever since. The horses haven't even attempted it.

Unfortunately, Sir Loin refuses to enter. He waits patiently for Mom to come back out. By George, it's been his experience that when you get too close to that area, it hurts.

"Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," he thinks smugly as he chews his cud and waits for his milk source to join him.

When you’re the only kid on the block…

I can’t help but pity the little steer, Sir Loin. His cow companions consist of his mom and two adolescent heifers. There’s really nobody to play with, although sometimes the youngest heifer will hang out with him.

As I was finishing up my horseback ride yesterday, I found little Sir playing with the bucket I climb on to get aboard my tall horse. Blue patiently waited while I took some pictures to make into a slide show and a video.

Here’s a very brief video of some of the action.

I just love cows

As much as I love Bonnie and Sir Loin, it's hard to take pictures or videos of them. They're so curious, they insist on getting too close for comfort.



See what I mean?


I love to watch cows chew their cud. It almost makes me wish I could chew cud.

Cliff's brother's whiteface heifer will show you how laid-back a cow can be when she's chewing cud:

Re-arranging the barn

Considering that cattle aren’t the most intelligent animals on the planet, the calf, Sir Loin, never ceases to amaze me.

In the evening when I’m planning to milk the next morning, I remove him from his mother by driving him through the sliding door on the right, into the horse stall. Even though I only milk once or twice a week, Sir knows what I’m doing, and after a little bucking and cavorting, he’ll run right in there.

Next morning, Bonnie is usually right there by the barn, knowing her son is inside. She and the calf usually start mooing at one another around 6 A.M., and I get out there quickly so they don’t wake Cliff up. The barn is right in front of our house, you know.

Bonnie goes in the open door on the left, and right to her stanchion; I lock her in it so she can’t leave when her sweet feed is gone, clean her udder, and milk as much as she’ll give me, which is less than a half-gallon. In order to get all the milk in the two teats on my side, I have to let the calf in and get him nursing on her left side so she’ll go ahead and let her milk down.

I prop open the door to where I’m milking, slide open the stall door for the calf, and Little Sir comes right on over.

If I milked twice a day like dairy farmers, I wouldn’t be so surprised at how well Sir knows what he’s supposed to do; but milking only once or twice a week, I wouldn’t have expected him to figure it out.

There isn’t much space between the cow and the wall (sorry about showing you Bonnie’s hiney like that). When Sir was smaller, it was no problem to wrestle him around and back him in there; now that he’s big, I’d never get it done if he didn’t cooperate. He hasn’t figured out how to use reverse, but he comes in the barn, stands in place behind his mom, and waits for me to guide him backwards into that small space. One he’s in position, I go back to my side of the cow and finish milking.

Lately, his body is almost too long to be in there and still reach the teats.

So today, Cliff moved the stanchion over, leaving plenty of space for the calf. No more pushing him backward into that small space.

My blogging buddy Amy said, in a comment, “I try to make sure I don't get too attached to your animals, but Sir Loin sure does pull at my heartstrings.”

Mine too, Amy. If only he had been a heifer! I do intend to enjoy him every day I have him here. Nevertheless, he is bound for the freezer eventually; I’ll be considerate and not blog about it when that day comes.

Let’s hope next years calf is a girl.

Look how Sir Loin has grown

Just born…

… and this morning, at almost three months old.

Of course, it’s no wonder he's growing; he gets four gallons of milk every day, except for once or twice a week when I put him in the barn so I can steal a gallon.

I had the Artificial Insemination tech here for Bonnie almost six weeks ago. After a cow is serviced, you mark it down on the calendar and watch her closely, three weeks later, for signs of being in heat. We had a very busy weekend on Bonnie’s three-week mark, but I saw no signs. This weekend it will be six weeks, so I’ll watch her (hopefully more closely) again.

I had so much trouble with my last heifer, who turned out to be sterile, that I’m almost afraid to hope Bonnie is bred so soon. Especially since she is a dream cow, probably as perfect in her demeanor and behavior as any Jersey cow I’ve owned. And I’ve owned quite a few.

She’s tame, and loves to be petted and hugged; she stands like a lady to be milked; she’s beautiful; she’s a good mother.

She’s perfect. Which is why I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Assuming she’s bred, I’ll let Sir nurse her until a couple of months before her next calf is due. Then we’ll take him to Cliff’s brother’s place to wean him.

Sometime after Bonnie has her next calf, we’ll bring him back home, let him get to the age of about eighteen months, and have him butchered. Since we don’t intend to try and fatten him, we’ll have most of the meat put in ground beef, as we did our last steer.

Silly calf

My little steer Sir Loin, aged two months, frequently nurses from his mother's back side, which puts him directly under her tail. Beneath a cow's tail isn't the best place to hang out, for obvious reasons.

Oh yes...

that's poop.

Maybe I'll can just a few more things

My tomato vines are really showing the effects of blight, but there are still lots of tomatoes on them, both red and green. I've been wanting to make a batch of green tomato chow-chow, but with the cool weather we've had, my sweet peppers haven't been ripening fast enough. Finally, today, I was able to come up with ten peppers.

I might even get energetic enough to can a few more jars of ripe tomatoes, as much as I dread the mess that would make. But seeing those vines dying makes me realize the time is short.

This morning I milked Bonnie; later on after Cliff was awake, drinking his coffee, I saw Sir Loin prancing and dancing around the front yard with glee. I ran out looking for an open gate, but none was ajar. I managed to get him to a gate and open it so he could rejoin his mother.

There's a spot where one fence almost joins another; Cliff left a space big enough for a person to squeeze through, but not large enough for a horse to escape. Back then we didn't have a skinny calf to worry about. I knew that had to be where Little Sir escaped.

"We can't waste too much time closing that gap," I told Cliff. "Little Sir is smart, by cattle standards."

I'd hardly gotten the words out of my mouth when Little Sir (or you can call him Houdini) went prancing and dancing and bucking across my front yard again. This time it wasn't so easy tricking him into the barn, but I managed. He isn't scared of me, but he loves to play; and he assumes I'm playing when I approach him, so he'll kick up his heels and run.

I had to send Sadie to the house, because of chasing. Oh no, Sadie wasn't chasing the calf; the calf was chasing her, and she was running for dear life!

Cliff went straight out and mended the gap where our calf had escaped. I'd love to be watching when he is in that area again and thinks he knows an escape route. The joke is on him.

It's a shame he's a bull calf; he's one of the most lovable bovines I've ever had on the place.

Milking day

I'm milking Bonnie two or three times a week. Not that I need that much milk, but I want her to get used to how the routine goes... if that's possible, when done only twice a week.

Remember when I blogged about how easy it was to milk Bonnie? So easy that I could just go out there in the pasture and do it?

She got wise, and realized I was stealing some of her baby's milk. Oh, she didn't get mean or anything; she just walked away every time I started to milk. So now I give her some feed and milk her in the stanchion, where she can't get away.

Last night I noticed the cows were nearby, so I called them into the little lot and gave them all a bite of feed. While they were occupied with that, I drove Bonnie's calf, Sir Loin, into the horse stall and closed the door. This way I know there will be plenty of milk in the morning.

Today when I stepped outside, all the cows, including Bonnie, were in the big lot relaxing and chewing their cuds.

And then I called to her: "Here Bonnie, sook-calf."

Don't ask me why people call cows that way; I learned it from my daddy.


Watch the video and see her reaction for yourself. Be sure you have your sound on.

She knows where her baby is; not behind that silver door; that's where I will be milking. But behind the sliding door to the right. She has her nose right in the crack where it opens.

I go in the barn and coax her into the stanchion with some feed. This morning it took awhile to convince her. Once she's in, though, she is quite well behaved. No kicking, no struggling.

Once she's trapped, I step out and turn Sir Loin loose. He always wants to hurry to my side of the cow, but I push him over there where he belongs. Bonnie lets her milk down, and I get a gallon out of my side.

When I'm done, I turn them out together; they won't be separated again until I decide I want some milk.

Here's a note of interest, at least to me. I got this entry ready to post and decided to Google "sook calf". I found the definition of that was "a hand-reared calf". Not exactly my own definition.

Then I searched for "sook cow" and got what I was looking for. On a discussion board about Irish and English accents, I found this paragraph buried deep in the discussion:

"Sook, sookie or sook cow is the local cry farmers use to summon the herd and comes from the Old English sucan meaning "to suck"."

Do you suppose my daddy had some Irish in his background?

Big Shot

Click on the picture to make it larger

Yesterday morning I turned Sir Loin out with the rest of the herd; he did just fine, and was still with them this morning. I'll still watch his mom's udder, in case I have to relieve her of some excess milk. By the way, in this picture he is in exactly the spot where he was born; he's going down memory lane, I suppose.

Remember my plugged-up ear? Yesterday morning I could hear again... until I bent over to pull some weeds. It stopped up again, and has been plugged ever since. I feel like I have my head in a bucket or something.

Did you know that when hearing in one ear is impaired, you can no longer tell what direction a sound is coming from? I knew it already, because of living with Cliff; but I really never wanted to experience it. I was in the kitchen yesterday and heard my cell phone ringing. I went to the bedroom to look for it and then realized it was in the opposite direction.

Oh yes, Cliff is enjoying this.

Regarding my previous post: Ask and ye shall receive! Turns out my son-in-law has a self-propelled mower he isn't using. How handy is that?

Sir Loin it is!

It was fun watching the poll as you folks voted for your favorite names for my calf; for a few days there, I was confident it was going to be "Clyde". I think perhaps my son-in-law did some campaigning to get his name on top. Now I can start calling the calf something besides "Hey You".

We had a genuine light show early this morning. First the electricity kept going off and coming back on repeatedly, which always makes me concerned that some appliances might be harmed. Then I realized that every time it went off, a transformer down by the road was shooting sparks and buzzing horribly.

Meanwhile, poor Sadie is still traumatized: Our smoke alarm is electric, and every time the electricity goes off or comes back on, it lets out a horrifying beep that almost hurts my own ears. Sadie was beside herself. The electricity has been back on for an hour or so, but she is hiding behind my recliner.

Since Sir Loin insists on going under the electric fence and enduring the shock it gives him in order to lie in the corn, I'm keeping him in the small lot until we can put up another strand of electric fence. When his mom comes up bawling, I let her in with him. When she bawls to be out, I let her out. Works for me, at least temporarily. Nursemaid to a cow; that's me.

I hadn't milked her for a couple of days, but this morning while the electricity was off and she was with the baby, there appeared to be plenty of milk in her back quarters, even after Sir Loin had his fill and was running around playing. So I went out to relieve her; I wouldn't want her udder to ruin.

As usual, she stood there unrestrained, chewing her cud, and allowed me to milk. I was able to get a half-gallon of milk from those two quarters. I'd say it won't be long until the calf can handle all her milk; at that point, if I want some milk once or twice a week, I'll have to keep him away from her overnight and milk the next morning.