Got milk?

The offending
cow's milk

Helen hasn't. We had to buy a bottle of cow's milk yesterday, because Helen has been dried off. Mr Farmer, who secretly doesn't mind goat's milk, opened the fridge this morning with a spring in his step, and greeted the cow's milk joyously. What a treat, he exclaimed. Cow's milk in his coffee. I thought Helen was out of earshot, but she looked awfully smug when Mr Farmer later announced that his tummy felt queazy - after all, any goat who can use google knows that cow's milk is comparatively less-digestible, more allergenic, and higher lactose goat's milk, so Helen is convinced that the cow's milk is the culprit. Helen is sure that now is a good time to reintroduce the Build-A-Milking-Shed campaign. She has her sights set on something like these goats have, although slightly more suited to a single doe, and perhaps with an adjoining apartment for her hygienically-challenged boyfriend.

Helen and Albie, BFFs

In the meantime, we are counting down to kidding. Helen misses her daily milking meal of apples, grain, and other treats (apparently sharing vegetable scraps and the odd slice of pizza with the sheep just isn't the same). Because Helen hasn't been spotted engaging in public displays of affection with Albie since 14 March, we are expecting her to kid around the beginning of August. This morning, Helen and Albie were spotted discussing kid names in a rare patch of late-Autumn sunshine.

Scandal

Helen, looking smug, just prior to
letting her secret out

Yesterday, Helen was spotted tenderly licking Albie's face in the paddock, when she thought nobody was watching. Her secret is out. She is in love. With Albie.


Today, Helen was spotted with Albie in tow, eating gorse in the neighbour's paddock. Obviously Helen has shared her secret getting-through-the-fence technique with Albie, which means the relationship must be getting serious. Unfortunately Helen omitted to tell Albie how to get back through the boundary fence. Since Helen had to come back through the fence for milking, Albie is now crying nervously beside the fence, because he cannot work out how to get back through.

Helen is having some tether time in the paddock, to think about how mean it was to get Albie stuck on the wrong side of the fence.

Peace and quiet and a happy buck

A nervous herd wondered how they had yet again been
fooled into being penned...

Move over Will and Kate, Albie and Helen have been
spotted together in the same paddock...

Two days ago it was Sheep-drench Sunday. We moved the sheep into the upper paddock, to herd them into the pen. Albie came too, of course, and when Helen heard him (you can't help but hear Albie - for a miniature goat, he has maximum volume) she changed her mind about helping with the herding process. Mr Farmer and Trusty Sidekick helped instead (well, Mr Farmer helped, and Trusty Sidekick lost her composure right at the end and chased the sheep back out of the pen, and was excluded from herding thereafter). The Ride-on Mower looked on from the front lawn, vaguely amused (she has been involved in the herding process before, but Helen got jealous and butted her, so now she just sticks to her main job, which she does with exceptional skill). The sheep finally ran into the pen thanks to some brilliant herding on Mr Farmer's part, and some remarkable restraint on Trusty Sidekick's part. Poor Albie, not being familiar with the sheep mentality of "everybody run in the same direction if someone is chasing you", got stuck in the top-most paddock. He cried. The sheep ignored him - they were too busy worrying, because last time they were in the pen, someone gave them bad haircuts (I disagree with this - the mohawk was so hot last summer). Happily, this trip to the pen only involved a squirt of slightly bitter drench, although the sheep are now upset because the Ride-on Mower popped her head through the fence and told them (with a certain smugness) that her drench tasted like apples.

Clearly, it was only a matter of time before Helen fell prey
to Albie's irresistible charm...

By the time I had let the sheep out into the upper paddock, Albie had worked out how to get back through the fence. He was excited, because he had just remembered that this was where he had last seen Helen. In fact, Helen had spent most of the previous week in the upper paddock - she claims this was because it has better access to the neighbour's paddock (less staples in the boundary fence), but I suspect it was because Albie was with the sheep in the lower paddock. Whilst I admired Albie's optimism, I suspected that Helen would now start using the lower paddock, or just not bother coming back at all.
Albie was right. Helen was waiting impatiently at the gate in the upper paddock on Monday morning. Even so, I suspected she would pop straight back through the fence after milking, but judging by the eery quiet that has descended over the farm, it would appear that she hasn't left the upper paddock since. There is some debate as to the status of their relationship, but sources (the sheep) say that the pair have decided to go their separate ways, but remain "good friends" for the sake of their unborn kid (again, this is only rumour, but judging by the lack of amorous behavior and Helen's subtle but sudden mood swings, there may be some substance to it).

Mr Farmer Gives Up

A sheep could never replace Helen...

November came quicker than did the donations to the East Friesian Ewe Fund. To top it all off, the neighbour's dog hadn't moved out (despite promises), but had continued to develop his taste for lamb. Given the circumstances, we decided that it was best not to invest in $300-a head milking sheep.

The pittosporums were flourishing - Helen had been exceptionally well-behaved, and was still producing lots of milk. The feta recipe had been perfected, and Mr Farmer was still enjoying fresh milk in his coffee. Our fridge was bursting at the seams. Thinking ahead, I began the hunt for a hand-raised, budget-friendly ewe to train to fill Helen's milking role.

The hunt was long and tedious. Female pet sheep are apparently hard to come by. Christmas came, and Helen had to be dried off in preparation for our new year holiday. When we returned, Helen was still producing milk (at a reduced rate), and pet sheep were still in short supply. We resumed milking, and Helen found a nice new home with some sheep in a nearby suburb, which she planned to move into when she dried off properly. We set March as our target date.

March came, and Helen was still producing. In all fairness, neither of us had made much of an effort to dry Helen off. The hunt for a pet sheep was still on, but the prospects were getting slimmer by the day. Finally, after overhearing Helen and I having the "do you think we could train one of the sheep we already have, even though they're not that bright" discussion for the umpteenth time, Mr Farmer gave up.

"Why don't you just get another buck?" He said.

Helen turned to internet dating. She found a good-looking feral buck in Palmerston North, but he already had a wife (Helen's not into polygamy). There were some Saanens in Rotorua, and some strapping bucks in Christchurch, but Helen wasn't sure it would work out. We even found Trevor, back hunting for a new home having split up with his South Auckland girlfriend - but Helen refused to take him back, which was a relief, because he was out of our price range. Just as we were starting to despair, along came a suave pedigree buck named Alberto von Danswan.

Alberto von Danswan, world's neediest goat.

Alberto, a moderately-successful experiment in miniature goat breeding, was looking for a new home having blotted his copy book by making a move on his owner. He didn't appear to have taken the rejection well, and by the time we arrived to pick him up, he was an angry young buck with a tendency to exhibit violent, anti-social behavior (in addition to his repertoire of socially unacceptable buck behaviors). After a struggle, Alberto found himself hog-tied in the back of a ute. You don't mess with Mr Farmer.

Helen was less than impressed when Alberto arrived - she took one look at him, sniffed, and walked off to join the cows. It took Alberto just over a week to work his magic, but by the 14th March, Helen had changed her tune and was affectionately calling him Albie. A brief but passionate affair ensued, but Helen eventually came to her senses, packed her bags, and moved out to live with the cows next door. Apparently, she has more in common with them than with the sheep, because they are all capable of producing milk - plus, she loves the abundant gorse.

Albie hasn't taken the move so well. When Helen isn't in the same paddock as he, Albie cries loudly. When he can't see Helen at all, Albie wails. Helen appears blissfully unaware of Albie's suffering, although I have occasionally heard her muttering things like "just man up, Albie - Trevor would never have made such a fool of himself" when she thinks I'm not listening.

Valerie Crow

Whitney and Urethra have been rather anti-social since their arrival on the farm, refusing to join the herd. Currently they are residing in the neighbour's paddock. This morning, I needed lard to seal the bandage on my first ever cheddar. Mr Farmer suggested that Whitney and Urethra might like to contribute (since they wont do anything else). We went down to see if they could herd them back up to our paddocks (one last chance to join the herd) - as it happened, they had already joined the herd, if only temporarily. Roger had neglected to tell us about the fleeting relationship he had had with them, which ended with the other ewes shunning Whitney and Urethra, who promptly relocated next door. The end result, however, was little Valerie Crow (Val, to her friends) - a jet-black fluffy little lamb with a few white markings on her face. Whitney and Urethra were somewhat relieved to have the situation out in the open. We suspect Val may have a half sibling on the way, although Whitney and Urethra are keeping very quiet. Lambpost's mum offered to help us out with the lard situation instead (plus tonight's roast dinner, and some sausages).

In other news, I attempted mozarella today, but somewhere along the way some bad bacteria made their way into the milk, so I turned it into Inglis' dinner instead. I suspect the yogurt may have introduced the bacteria.

PHOTO: Val Crow looking for her mummy after the photo shoot she and I had... she got mixed up and ran after Mr Farmer first, then the suffolk ewe, before giving up and popping back through the fence to her real mum.

Feta

Helen and I have been making feta.

Every morning, Helen is waiting for me at the gate, rain or shine (even on weekends - that's dedication for you). If she thinks I am late (or maybe that I have forgotten) she calls out loudly. The same thing happens in the evening - and every time she sees me during the day. I suspect she is in it for the Fiskens Dairy Meal and miscellaneous vegetable scraps she gets at milking time, rather than for my company. In any case, we have milk - lots of milk - so it is time for some cheese.

Pasteurizing, with high-tech thermometer holder for
constant temperature readings.

Helen suggested I start out with something we know how to make, so our first cheese was a feta. Unfortunately there were some nasty bacteria in the cheese cloth, so that one got fed to Inglis the piglet. The next batch is in the fridge, expected to be ready in two days' time (and probably to be served on a home-made pizza with home-made chorizo sausage). The third batch is the one in the photos - I put it in brine today. The fourth batch was cut and hung today.

When I first started making feta, the general consensus on the internet appeared to be straight forward. Now, however, there are several variations on feta making processes, which Helen and I (or maybe even the East Friesian Ewes and I, depending on the fund) will eventually try. Our "traditional" recipe goes like this:

Cutting the curd

First, slowly heat 4 litres of milk to 68°C in a stainless steel pot, and hold it at this temperature for an hour. The temperature is apparently very important - though last season there were several instances where I got distracted and let the milk overheat, with no discernible ill effects (I was only a few degrees over the target temperature every time). In any case, a thermometer is important, and Helen and I would like to thank Mr Farmer for lending us his thermometer.

Stirring the curd after it has rested - some pieced need
cutting again.

After an hour, let the milk cool to 35°C (you can skip the first step and just start with 35°C milk - it may enhance the taste, but may also let unwanted bacteria continue to live in your cheese.) Add a tablespoon of acidophilus yogurt (we use DeWinkel), mix in thoroughly, and leave for an hour.

Right after you have mixed in the yogurt, combine half a cup of cold water and a half teaspoon of rennet (available at all good Countdown stores) - it would appear that it is important to let this stand for an hour before adding it. This step is often forgotten, so I have found that 20 minutes of standing time works just as well. After an hour, add the rennet, and mix it in thoroughly. I use a whisk (hence the bubbly surface in the photos). Let it stand, covered, at room temperature overnight.

draining the curds in cheese cloth

In the morning, or when the curds are firm, cut the curds. You need a 'clean break' - curds with a similar consistency to crème caramel. Cut in centimetre-ish strips one way, angling the knife to one side as you move along, then turn the pot 90° and do the same thing. Leave it to sit for 10 minutes, then stir very gently. I read a recipe from someone who only ever uses plastic to stir the curds, as it doesn't damage them - but plastic holds odours (and all our kitchen utensils are multi-purpose), so to be on the safe side I use the curd-cutting knife - again, with no ill effects. Next - if you like firm feta - heat the curds slowly to 30°C (40°C seems to work, too), cover and hold it at this temperature for 45 minutes. This makes the curds firmer, but the recipe works just fine if you skip this step. It is a good idea to stir gently every ten minutes, but if you forget, the curds will just clump together a bit (which actually makes them easier to get out of the pot).

State-of-the-art cheese hanging device

I used to just pour the curds and whey through a cheese cloth, but this is very messy. Now, I use a stainless steel slotted spoon to get the bigger curds out into the cheese cloth, and pour the remaining curds and whey on top. Over-handling the curds can apparently make the cheese tough and plasticky. So can pressing it too much (so I don't press feta at all). Keep the whey that drains off - this makes the brine. You can make it with water instead of whey, but it doesn't taste as good.

Curd, drained, cut in half, and ready to be sliced
into smaller sections for salting and brining.

Hang your cheese cloth somewhere (I use the laundry tub) for 12 hours (or 24 if you are brave - we did one like this and it tasted brilliant. The next one got contaminated). After this, cut it into slices, salt the surfaces with un-iodised salt, put into a container, and leave at room temperature for 12 hours (or 24, or 48 - if it isn't too hot, you can get away with anything). This helps to drain even more moisture from the curds.

Next, pour your brine over - 2 cups of whey and 5 tablespoons of salt. In batch number two I used 5 teaspoons of salt instead - will have to wait until Wednesday to see how it tastes**. The acidity of the brine is important; if it isn't acidic, your cheese will melt (so I have read, anyway) - but apparently leaving the whey at room temperature for 12 hours will make it nice and acidic. The cheese needs to sit in the brine for at least a week - the longer the better (to a point, anyway). Store it in the brine, rinsing each piece before you eat it. This makes a lovely, soft, creamy, spreadable feta. I'm working on a dry crumbly version (but we are very fond of the current version).

Hygiene is very important during this process - I spray my utensils with diluted bleach (then rinse them) before using, and boil my cheese cloths before I use them. You'll know if you have bad bacteria in your cheese - the smell is very distinctive, and the spongy texture and small round holes are a dead giveaway. Our chickens, pigs, and Inglis the piglet love the occasional batch of bad-bacteria cheese...

November is drawing very close, and the East Friesian Ewe Fund has almost enough for half a ewe. Might be time to start convincing Mr Farmer to let Helen get a boyfriend, instead...

** 5 teaspoons was insufficient, and the cheese went moldy. Stick to 5 tablespoons.

Milk!

Since Arthur left, I have been milking Helen twice daily. Apparently milking twelve hours apart helps to maximise production, which means 6.20 am starts. On Sunday evening, production was poor. I didn't bother measuring it, but Mr Farmer saw it and muttered "she's not a real milking goat" (much to Helen's embarrassment). On Monday, production was still low. I've started feeding Helen molasses and more grain at milking time, adjusted my milking technique (the last little bits of milk can be accessed by stripping down from the top, rather than milking from the bottom) and (now that Helen is over Mr Farmer's comments, and is slowly coming to terms with being a milking goat rather than a mum) production is slowly increasing. It is unlikely that she'll ever out-do Katie, but we might make a small batch of feta cheese tomorrow night.

The pigs have still not given birth - however, it is pouring with rain, which usually seems to spur them on.