I haven't forgotten the world's best stuffing recipe. Tonight, I promise.
Two days ago S.O. came home with the news that he had seen a new Scottish Highland calf in the pasture. We hustled over, and fortunately I had a full plastic bag or fruit and vegetable scraps to take along. A brown fuzzy baby, licked half to death by his proud mother Maggie. The farmer had told us the calf was expected in September, so we have been worried (O.K., I was worried) and now all is well, except the calf starts out facing a cold northeast winter at a young age. He seems pretty frisky and annoyed one of the other new mothers who put the get on him. The summer calves are really big now and have started to eat the scraps we feed them. The mothers bleat to the calves and the calves come running. Sometimes.
A few weeks ago, the farmer was in the barn preparing a big feed of stale bread and muffins for the cows. They have voracious sweet tooths. All of them stood by the gate bellowing. What a racket. They wanted their special treat. The only sugar I give them is in the form a banana peels and stuff like that. Five adult cows and 2 calves can make a fearsome noise. The sweet-faced young bull is always a doll. He is very good natured, but then the odds are 4 to one in his favor. Maggie is still the boss, is the largest with the longest horns and the most accomplished mother, although this summer's young mamas did just fine, thank you. We don't have any baby photos yet, so stay tuned. I really do love those cows.