Cleaning Cows is a Labor of Love

Visit my cattle (mostly burr-free) TODAY Saturday, August 29 from 1 to 3 p.m. 

Adults are $25. Children are free. Miles Smith Farm, 56 Whitehouse Rd., Loudon, New Hampshire 603 892 6863

August should be easy. Cattle grazing lush grass, nibbling clover. Pink sunrises, brilliant sunsets, the picture of idyllic farm life. All true. Also true: I spend a chunk of every August with scissors in my hand, prying burrs from bovine ears.

Anyone raising long-haired Highland cattle — or honestly any bovine with a tail, which is most of them — knows what I'm talking about. The burrs have invaded, and they've brought two different armies.

Thistle makes itself obvious because it announces itself. Prickles everywhere, top to bottom. Long sleeves are theoretical protection at best. When the flower goes to seed, it turns into thistledown, those silky little parachutes that catch the wind, which is how one plant seeds half a field.

Burdock is the con artist. Big floppy heart-shaped leaves like rhubarb. Smooth stems. Not a barb on it. Looks friendly. All the weaponry is concentrated in the seed head, where the burrs end in tiny hooked barbs engineered to grab fur and hitch a ride.

All summer we've cut, mowed, stomped, and cursed. But the ones we missed are blossoming now, and they've found their way into tails and manes and that magnificent Highland coat, where they weld themselves in until I’m working them out with fingers, scissors, and frustration.

My cattle do pitch in. They'll happily eat young burdock rosettes. But the moment those plants mature, my herd develops a sudden sophisticated palate and wants nothing to do with them.

Here's the annoying part. These plants are valued by others.

Burdock is the reason Velcro exists. In 1941, a Swiss engineer named George de Mestral pulled burrs off his dog, put one under a microscope, and saw the hooks—every sneaker and jacket cuff with a Velcro closing owes thanks to burrs.

Both plants also make tea, burdock being the more popular. I have not yet reached the stage of brewing my enemies, but you never know.

Thistle feeds bumblebees and monarchs, and especially the painted lady butterfly, whose caterpillars eat thistle leaves — earning it the nickname "thistle butterfly."

And goldfinches. Goldfinches nest later than almost any North American songbird, in July and August, because they're waiting on thistledown. They eat the seeds and line the nest with the fluff. A pasture with no thistle is a pasture with fewer goldfinches.

Then there's the heritage defense. The thistle is Scotland's national emblem, supposedly because a barefoot Norse raider stepped on one in the dark, hollered, and woke the sleeping Scots in time to save them. The Order of the Thistle is Scotland's highest chivalric honor. So when a Scottish Highland steer comes in wearing a thistle crown, there's an argument he does not need a haircut. He's patriotic.

Every morning, when the herd comes in from pasture to stand in the shade of the barn, I assess the damage. With sharp tools I’ll remove burrs from faces and ears, but I’ve given up on tails.

This fall I'm going to enlist some willing teenagers and go after the surviving plants. Next year, maybe we get them before they set burrs.

A farmer can only hope. The goldfinches, meanwhile, are hoping I fail.

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Cow Coach Carole co-owns Miles Smith Farm, where you can visit her cattle (mostly burr-free) on Saturday, August 29 from 1 to 3 p.m. Adults are $20. Children are free.