Ciblek Mania

She's called Salem Sue and she lives in—towers over, really—the town of New Salem, North Dakota on the south side of I-94, west of Bismarck. We saw a sign for her shortly before we saw her looming presence, standing tall on top of a hill. She is the world's largest Holstein cow statue. There was no way we were simply going to drive past her without stopping for a hi-dee-ho and a closer gander.


She did not disappoint. We stopped at the small entrance kiosk and happily donated our $3 per car full. Then we fish-tailed our way up the muddy road to Sue.



Three things struck us as we stepped out of our vehicle.

One, it was cold—probably about 45 degrees, not bad for a June afternoon.

Two, the wind hit us like a freight train. We needed to hold onto each other to keep from being blown off Sue's hill. Wind chill estimate: -73 degrees F. I could feel my skin turning blue, under my three coats. My exposed skin had lost all sensation.



Three: Sue was not only huge, she was anatomically correct. And she was in desperate need of a robust milking. It occurred to me that, had Sue's udders been leaking milk, the entire southeastern quarter of Morton County would have been covered in frothy dairy goodness.



We stood there, shivering in our amazement. Took some photos. Then each of us tracked a pound of mud into our Toyota Sasquatch (or whatever it was we were driving) and we headed west, toward the Montana border, our giant holstein jones having been satisfied.

In Brazil, while driving along any main highway, you might chance upon a roadside restaurant and store called Vaca Preta, which translates from the Portuguese meaning Black Cow. What makes the Black Cow different from, say a Steak-N-Shake in the United States, or a Happy Eater in the United Kingdom is that the Black Cow has a cow (not always black) in a pen in front of it. For a small fee, you can have the farmer on duty squeeze you off a glass of milk while you wait.

He'll even flavor it for you, if straight, still-warm-from-being-inside-the-cow, milk is not your thing.

We were stopping at Vaca Preta for lunch on our last day of a birding trip throughout southeastern Brazil. The restaurant inside was famous for its sausage sandwiches (not beef burgers??) and our guide, Paulo Boute, had been extolling their virtue all morning long. So we decided to eat first and watch the cow-milking action later.

Inside was a fire pit, smoking and sizzling, where they cooked the sausages, onions, bread, and melted the cheese for the sandwiches. This was a good sign. My heart always sinks when I walk into a roadside eatery, ravenous from a day of birding, only to find frozen burritos, pre-made sandwiches, and a microwave. This place was cooking real stuff on an actual fire—caveman style.

The lunch was great and the sausage sandwich especially yummy and bad for you (as yummy things usually are).


Then it was time for the Milkmaster 3000 to do his thing. We went outside and gathered around the cow pen. A strong-armed farmer gave us a smile and a tip of his cowboy hat. Paulo ordered for himself and was a bit surprised and disappointed when the other four of us, all Americans, did not place orders, too. Now I am always up for trying anything, but something told me that unpasteurized milk right from a Brazilian cow, now matter how creamy and wonderful, might not be a healthy choice. In fact I was pretty sure I remembered reading on the U.S. State Department website covering travel to Brazil, a paragraph that said:


And here is the aforementioned milker and milkee, shooting the frothy white milk right into Paulo's cup. Enjoy!

I can vouch for the authenticity of this video because I was there. And I would also like to say that the commentary you hear in the background was not from Bill of the Birds, or any of my fellow Americans. I'm just sayin'....

Got Milk?