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The Holstein Hoofers by Jacquie Brown January 3, 2007 The all-cow chorus line didn't happen overnight. It evolved thru a restless, only-child's efforts to fill the long hours of summer on the farm. It was in the early 1950s, and video games hadn't yet been invented. Dinosaurs were extinct. There was no one to hang out with-?except the cows. We would gather mid-morning in the barnyard, a universal custom echoed in cafes, pubs and watering holes of various sorts throughout the world. This watering trough was a galvanized affair supported by a concrete platform, around which the cows would stand, chewing cuds and socializing in their unique cow-like ways. ?Around the water cooler? country style. Initially surprised that I had chosen to join them, their surprise quickly faded to mild curiosity. A cow's life offers few diversions, and they were, apparently, as glad for my company as I was for theirs. In the beginning, understanding that I was the outsider, I stood back, low-key, taking in the crowd, and getting a feel for what the cows considered appropriate behavior. As I became more comfortable, I offered occasional input, and once they accepted this, I began warming up our morning assemblies with a few jokes. One thing led to another. The jokes were followed by an occasional song, and eventually I was performing entire musicals, composed on the spot, complete with choreography. While none of the cows ever actually laughed out loud at my jokes, looks of amazement spread across their broad faces on a regular basis, and sometimes they even broke into drools. This was a real confidence builder for me! I didn't take it personally that they didn't laugh at my jokes, because their human counterparts seldom understood my humor either. It was the cows? positive response to my musical numbers which was most rewarding! They stood mesmerized for as many encores as I cared to deliver. During such productions, tapdancing across the entire length of the concrete platform in front of the watering trough, I made an observation. Wanting to be sure I had seen correctly, I made another pass across my makeshift stage. As my sandaled feet moved from left to right, so did the cows? heads. And then, when I reversed direction, those same cows? heads moved from right to left! A slight, but simultaneous, synchronized movement. It was wonderful! My heart pounded. The creatures had obvious talent which was being wasted in their current capacity as mere audience members: they were destined to become the very first all-cow chorus line. Up the road in Detroit, Barry Gordy had not even conceived of MoTown, and here, in this very barnyard, Mootown was afoot. The cows were naturals. Not only were they a great back-up group, but they came pre-costumed. Each Holstein was uniquely patterned. When swaying simultaneously as a unit, the cows created a harmonious black and white blur! Wow?-integration had begun! ?All we were saying, was give peace a chance.? Until now, this phenomenon has never been documented?-because I was the only witness! The summer months melted together as rehearsals for our barnyard productions moved into full swing. It was a difficult schedule for animals used to wandering about aimlessly. Cows have a whole different concept of time. While always alert to the main divisions of days, they tend to pay little heed to individual hours, and time management is a concept they don't easily grasp. But that summer was different. We were all working hard, caught up in our musical extravaganzas. I used my 4-H sewing skills to make brightly-colored sweat bands for each cow. They were initially confused as I approached their heads with my measuring tape, but when they began their routine the next morning, clad in those multi-colored accessories, I could see the pride reflected in their big brown eyes. Each morning we went over new routines and rehearsed until lunch (which is called dinner on the farm). The cows, with their complicated stomach apparatus, needed a couple extra hours for digestion, but then were back for strenuous afternoon rehearsals. The results amazed us all. Those cows really put their hearts and souls into the productions! Sometimes I wonder if any of them ever ended up at Radio City Music Hall. We haven't kept in touch. Sadly, there are no pictures from that summer. My only camera, a little boxlike Brownie, had been lost at camp the preceding summer. Some years are better than others. But my memories of the season of the all-cow chorus line are not to be forgotten. About the author: I grew up on a farm in northwest Ohio, where this story has its roots. A kid has to do what a kid has to do to stay occupied during the summer months. I developed my imagination and hung out with the cows, horses, sheep, dogs and cats. It was a good childhood. I went on to get an English Degree from Bowling Green State University and have enjoyed writing all my life, which seems to entertain my family and friends, and keeps my memories of rural Ohio alive. | | | |
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