n The Dairy Mail - The rhythm of farming - : both sides buttered

Volume 21, Issue 8
  • ISSN : 1561-4301


I was 12 when I first started milking. I stood on the rusted steps and looked into the parlour. Rubber houses throbbed in unison and squirmed against the lip of the pit while milk flashed through them. Each inflation grabbed the teat it held and softened its grip for a moment before squeezing it again. These unyieldingly steady sounds came from nowhere in particular and everywhere at once. Everything in the parlour shook in perfect time, as if I was at the source of its heartbeat.

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