Dairylicious

Let me tell you how it can be a little awkward to show up on a dairy farm and announce that you are lactose intolerant. It wasn't that my audience was unreceptive about my dietary restrictions, but it did become a bit of a running joke throughout my stay. Meg was very good to me and claimed she had fun being creative with her cooking. She made plenty of tasty meals (and sweet treats), and adapted some recipes so I would be able to taste some traditional Kiwi (and Scottish) cuisine!

My dad has sometimes commented about how I would be an asset to a dairy farmer if I was keen on helping out because I wouldn't be tempted to drink any of the profits. Well, it turns out that the only thing the family consumes directly from the farm (aside from the meat they freeze every year) is eggs... not heaps of raw milk! Even so, it seemed like almost a threat that they wanted me to help out at the cow shed some day, since time was passing and it never actually happened.

It came up again two days before my departure, and it was agreed that (rather than leaving at half past five in the morning) I would help out with the afternoon milking the next day. Todd stopped by the house after riding his horses on Thursday and picked me up on his motorbike (4-wheeler). He lent me a pair of overalls (full coverage, neck to ankle, and fairly huge since Todd is tall) and I borrowed a random pair of gumboots when I got to the shed (also ginormous on me). I later understood the importance of both of these articles, as without them I would have been covered in fresh brown splatter marks and up to my ankles in slop!