The Red Flannel Rag

because he makes them nervous.” In fact, she didn’t want any males to be near her

cows. She taught me how to milk so I could fill in for her in case she got sick.

One time, an agricultural extension agent dropped by the farm and told her she

had to have her cows vaccinated for bangs disease, a common name for brucellosis — an

infectious disease of cattle that can be transmitted to humans through the cow’s milk.

He warned her that we could all get a serious disease called Undulant Fever from

drinking her cows’ milk. Dropping by the farm was the agent’s first mistake.

Mom lit into him like a wet hen. “My cows are not sick and you’re not doing

anything to them. When they get sick, I treat them myself and if it’s something I can’t

take care of, I’ll call the cow doctor.”

The agent tried to argue with her. That was his second mistake. She picked up a

stick of wood from the woodpile and started walking toward him. Her face was beet red.

She said, through clenched tee th, “You get off my property right now, and don’t you ever

show your face around here again.” I remember him shaking his finger at her as he

backed away toward his car, “I won’t be back, but somebody will.” Mom answered, “Tell

‘em to come on, I’ll run them off too.” Nobody else ever showed up to vaccinate her

cows.

The time came when Mom’s first cow, “Ole Jerse,” was too old to breed anymore.

The cow was about twenty-two years old. Not being able to breed meant she would soon

stop giving milk. With the pressure from Dad about feeding a nonproductive cow, Mom

finally agreed to sell “Ole Jerse.” She called Russell Crawford and asked him to haul the

cow to the Saturday stock sale in Harrisonburg.

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