Month: March 2021

One abnormally warm spring day in 2013 I got off work early and decided it would be a great afternoon for a hike. I could hike the hundred acres around the ranch and check the cows that were grazing in various smaller groups of their choosing. I had cabin fever which was ironic as I spent half my time at my office downtown and the other outside or in the barns of the ranch. Calving season had just concluded so I was not allotted much time for sleeping and eating. It a rancher’s joke about calving season although at time feels really—real!

By chance this was just a few days after the new shiny green calf table arrived on the ranch. Never having a calf table before to treat the calves in a more orderly way, there was much excitement over using it the first time. Spring banding, brands and vaccines—immunizations not hormones—would be so much easier. The upcoming Saturday would be its unveiling. Of course, it first had to be placed and anchored. Except as of this day, it was still being mulled over as to where it should be in the chute area without completely re-designing the 100-year-old chute system. It had been moved several times seeking out that harmonious place.

For those that don’t know what a calf table is for, it’s a much smaller version of a cattle squeeze. Once you have squeezed the calf in to prevent it from moving but not tight enough to harm it, you can pull the unit unto its side and then the calf is in a flat position on their side. This may sound bad but think of it as an exam table for the calves. It brings it to just above the knee height of most adults which is easier to work on the animal and the bars have springs so you can release one to six of them to work on the animal without obstruction. 

The calves are generally worked up and anxious being without their cow moms who are in the adjoining pen and can kick and thrash about. Placing them in the calf table and then turning them on their sides relaxes them and it is safer for them and the humans working on them. Of course, like any tool you must work with them awhile before you get the swing of how it works. This was quite comical in the first year of using the calf table. After that first year its placement was key on having a pen around it for all the calves that escaped while we were trying to secure them.

I set out on my hike, and I noticed a handful of calves and their cow moms up in the tree line where the wild turkeys were following close behind them. I will leave it to your imagination as to what the turkeys were eating while in close pursuit of the cows. I followed the path alongside the creek and enjoyed the first signs of Spring. The daffodils in a wide variety of types were busting out everywhere and the tulip blades were just peeking through the ground. Unfortunately, the tulips would forever look like that because the deer at the flower buds the minute they began to blossom. For some reason, the deer did not like the daffodils or irises. 

The creek was brimming right to the top of the bank and the cattails were still green with light green buds on the top. As I came to the sharp bend in the creek and looked up ahead to the natural valley and hillside beyond there were the rest of the cows lounging on beds of green luscious grass while chewing their cud. It was a picture-perfect sight, and I took out my camera and began snapping pictures. When I had a few dozen snapshots of the beauty I began to leisurely walk back down the same path I had followed in. I did not have to turn around to notice that the cows were following me. It was early enough in the spring that the pastures did not fill their tummy’s yet, and they still depended on me to throw them out some hay each day.

Back at the barn I had finished throwing out a bale of alfalfa and as I did each feeding time examined each cow. I learned early on that this was the best way of preventing something small from becoming a full-fledged issue. The cows looked fine, the bull was in good form, the steers were getting fat and sassy and the calves looked healthy and spry. Then I did a double take. Tuffy, one of the calves, had a large scrape on his rump, and it was starting to form a patch over what looked to be a rather large gash. 

I called Richard and luck would have it he was making his way down the ranch’s driveway. He commented that if I could get Tuffy up to the chute area we could look at it there. He could not conceal the pleasure in his voice at being given an excuse to able to use that new calf table. Sometimes there is a fine line between a piece of equipment and a big toy.

As luck would have it Tuffy’s cow mom was a favorite, sweet, and docile cow, Noel, and it was not difficult to separate them out from the herd and make my way with them through the barnyard and up to the chute area. A little grain in a coffee can does wonders for persuading the cows from time to time. I am an amateur cow whisperer after all, and I need a few sneaky tricks to work the cows on my own.

We positioned the calf table at the end of the long chute that would normally lead them into a stock trailer but instead the calf would walk right into the calf table and the cow mom being too large to fit in to would just stand on the other side and offer comfort to her calf without getting in the way. This could not be a permanent placing unless we were never to trailer the cows off the property again. But for the first time it worked rather well although slightly off balance due to the uneven ground below it. It worked like a charm. Tuffy walked down the chute first with Noel behind him and we locked him into the calf table and rolled him to his side like we were pros. I think we were both feeling a little smug with our instant success at maneuvering the calf and calf table on our own without the whole team there.

To exam Tuffy’s rump we lowered two of the side bars and in doing so was perfectly centered and easy to see his scape. Richard began feeling around the odd shaped scrape and then directly on it with a look of puzzlement on his face. I inquired how bad was it. Tuffy didn’t seemed bothered by the examination. Richard said he did not know what it was. Something seemed off about what we thought was an injury. Then he felt some more all around the scraped area then putting his fingernails slightly under it. He shook his head and said it was not a scrape at all. It was a thick piece of pitch that was stuck to his hide. Try as we might with several different home remedies, we could not get the pitch of his hide. In the end we just had to leave the pitch there and hope it eventually fell off. We were rather thankful that nothing was wrong with Tuffy.

Then we had the dilemma of how to release Tuffy back to his cow mom. She was behind him and would not back up. If we up righted him and then let him proceed through the front of the calf squeeze, he would be free as a bird on the outside of the barnyard. Obviously, we had not given this placement of the calf table as much thought as we should have. In the end we let him free and hoped he wanted back with his cow mom more than freedom. Yes, cow mom, Noel, won. He was a momma’s boy. When Tuffy went to the livestock sale six months later he still had a piece of pitch stuck to his rump. 

As for me, I will never forget the first time we used the calf table but after hundreds of calves through it I honestly do not remember the last time we used it or why… I do remember to carry the WD40 and a can of yellow jacket repellent each time we head to use the calf table because it’s always squeaky and rusty from sitting outside exposed to the elements and the tubes are wonderfully warm and succulent for sustaining the yellow jackets.

I felt similarly today as I did in this journal entry from almost seven years ago. Sometimes as a writer you just don’t have the time to sit down and write. It seems that the obstacles outweigh the ability to focus on the many reels of footage rolling through your mind. The grandson’s sing-a-long show, the cats jumping on the keyboard in front of the computer screen as if this is the only moment they can spare for a petting out of their twenty hours of sleep time a day, and not to mention the dishes, laundry, and yes of course the vacuuming as the delivery man brought a box that detergent was pouring out of (lucky not liquid this time) are all reasons why I end up at 2 am alone in the dark with the laptop writing but not with the zeal of what I had in mind earlier the day before. 

Ranch Beautification – Excerpts from the Amateur Cow Whisperer’s Diaries July 2014

How could it be the end of July already? I was creeping down the tree lined ranch driveway in the cool morning hours on a Wednesday. The two handfuls of cows and calves still left on the property for the summer are happily grazing in the green grass of the front pasture that I had been irrigating the past few weeks. That is until farmer Bob had blown a riser valve in the back field. By the time he caught the breach there was water running all the way to the little rural airport. Now all watering was ceased, and the grasses would rapidly be turning brown with the 100+ degrees days that dragged on. I was so tired of the heat wave. 

As I curve the pickup truck around the driveway’s circular rock walled flower bed and park, I am cautious not to break the quiet stillness of the morning by shutting the truck’s driver door too loudly. Laptop in one hand and journal and chocolate milk in the other I tiptoe to the side of the garage and peek inside. Pup is still sleeping soundly at the back of the garage nestled on his doggie bed in the center of the wood pile. Confident I have a good hour or so before he will wake and make his morning appearance for his arthritis medicine and treats, I turn and tip toe down the grass towards the empty ranch house.  

The porch swing is calling to me, “Come and write, Cow Whisperer.” I have written some of my best work from that old porch swing. Richard is away on a job again and I should have the whole place to myself. As I near the foot bridge I make a stealthy glance towards the largest of the popular trees in front of the swale creek. Yes, the coast is clear. There is no sign of Don’s blue and black bicycle resting against the largest tree trunk. I am finally alone again on the ranch and ready for my mission. Breaking into song would be appropriate but even the frogs would cringe at my singing voice. 

If my hands were not full, I would be doing a happy dance down the walkway towards the ranch house. I have not been alone here in far too long. This morning, I have the inspiration to write about the experiences of the hard winter and its losses, the short springtime, and its trials and what has already been a much too long, hot, and dry summer. As I manage the downward steps to the porch, I grimace at the porch swing which is laying at rest on the newly cut grass and not hanging in its rightfully spot on the porch. 

It has been stripped of paint and looks woeful. That porch swing is my office, my desk, and from it my best work comes. How am I to get any work done now? For weeks the ranch house yard, my writing sanctuary, has been in chaos but now Don has gone too far and disassembled my porch swing. Oh, I know it is not mine legally speaking but possession is nine tenths of the law, isn’t it?  

A quick decision is made, and I rest myself on the front porch with my legs dangling over the edge. This is not nearly as comfortable as the swing, but it will have to do. I have not written one chapter in over a month and I’m craving for the words to flow from me and see them glide across the screen and come alive.

This is the first time I have been alone on the ranch in months and oh how I have missed these very minutes of quiet stillness. I could easily get lost in the day with no one making a sound. For the past couple of months, the ranch has been a hub of activity with farmer Bob harvesting the alfalfa in the fields, me and the girls tending to the irrigation lines and Richard’s son taking an interest (cosmetically speaking) in the ranch house.  

He is a caring young man, and I think the world of him, but he lacks the gumption to get his hands dirty so to speak which makes it an interesting parallel around the ranch. His solution was to hire a handyman, Don, for the summer to do the jobs none of us have time to do (or that he wants done but not with his own hands). Some of the jobs are a necessity in keeping the ranch house sound in the harsh winter months but other jobs are only in making it appealing to the eye. 

I should be ecstatic that the ranch house is getting a much-needed face lift and that it’s descendants are interested in its history enough to make it so beautiful again. Instead, I find myself green with envy. For the past four years I have taken pride in making the history come alive around this place. Mostly with the resources found here on the ranch. Using my own two hands along with my family’s to keep things going around the ranch. In circumstances that were not always so pleasant, getting filthy dirty, soaking wet, banged and bruised, sliced open and stung repeatedly, and now someone comes riding in not on a white steed but in a white four wheeled carriage to do the fun and easy stuff… 

Being a creative writer, I could envision this ranch at its most beautiful state before anyone took the time to give it a second glance. In the tranquility of this once forgotten old family (but not mine) ranch I was able to discover my writing ability once again and let the stories deep within me surface, breathe and come alive. Stories not only about the cows and the ranch but new stories about people and places I longed to share even in fictitious fashion. 

Now I had to share this place? If I were standing, I would stomp my foot in revolt.  Yes, the green-eyed monster had set in, and I desperately needed him to take a flying leap off the highest hill around because it was hampering my writing time. Sharing this place with its rightful descendants would not be easy even if it was what I had always wanted for Richard. It’s so important to him. Somehow, I would have to find a way.

As I scoped the front yard out, I realized there would be no writing time for me today. Just like each other day I had tried to write there was more pressing work to be done. Piles of brush needed to be moved to the burn pile in the barnyard, unused hoses needed to be picked up, embedded wire panels to be removed from pine trees, debris piles in various places needed sorting through and picked up, and all the other summer chores to tend to before winter was here again.  

By this time, the cows had made it in from the front field and were staring at me from the side yard’s picket fence. Button, Domino, and Snow Lily were smelling and licking Don’s tool belt that he had left hanging on the fence post. They were so inquisitive. Peace was clearing her throat and Smudge was mooing insistently. Theodora was looking for my youngest daughter, her owner, and sticking her tongue out at me. Then there was Lincoln who was clumsily making his way down the short rocky path. His tail swirling in a circle as he often did when he heard my voice.  

My first place around this ranch would always be out and about with the cows. I was their human mother and frankly, I could not imagine my life without them at this point. I felt quite certain no one else wanted to call that dirty unappreciated job theirs and so I had security around the ranch. Well, that is, if I kept my mouth shut about the beautification, even from a woman’s point of view.

p.s. – Awww… Lincoln, my pet steer, the mascot of the ranch for a while and of course Pup, who adopted us. Now I know what my next blog will be about 🙂

Ranch Beautification – Excerpts from the Amateur Cow Whisperer’s Diaries July 2014

Fearless is a big BOLD word.

I was reflecting on this yesterday afternoon as I was doing cow chores. I find that being with the cows and observing them I can relate human behavior to cow behavior.

I was in the barn loading the ATV with some hay for the bull and pulling some bales into the bottlenecked area in front of the feeder alley. I do this every few days as not to have to pull the bales as far to disperse them into the feeder at chore time. 

The wind was gusting both through and around the barn and feeder areas. It was to the point of playing tricks on my hearing. I thought I heard a loud bang. Then I second guessed my thought. The mother cows began scurrying off the cement area in front of the feeder where they stand to eat. The recent rain and snow had made the muck quite slippery. Sounds of sliding hooves along with creaks and groans of the old tree posts used as support beams in the design of the feeder were being pushed by 1000-pound cow bodies. 

I glanced out and down the feeder aisle to see two of the pregnant cows standing at attention with their butts to the feeder and their heads stretched out tall with eyes fixated into the setting sun on the ridge of tree-lined hill above the barnyard. Yep, that was the signal of a predator. Whether human, animal or machinery something was alerting the cows to danger. 

The cow mothers were growling low and throaty signaling to their calves to gather close as danger was around them. However, the calves were not listening, still intent on running and jumping and playing calf tag as I call it. They were oblivious to their mother’s calls with potential danger at bay.

The calves were too young to know fear. I thought about humans. Were they born fearless too? Do the life experiences make us fearful? And when does fear begin in humans?

A very dear lifetime friend of mine has had a challenging time this past year. Everything in her life was turned upside down and inside out. This left her pondering who she will be going forward. What she wants her personal and professional life to look like. And even what she herself even really likes or dislikes. My heart breaks for her daily as she shares her struggles with me. Other than listening and praying for her I know there is nothing I can do. She must navigate these waters herself and I can only lend support. 

I am so proud and inspired by her for getting out of bed each morning and tackling these personal issues. She is fearless in my eyes and yet she feels anything but this. She recently commented that her friends like me are fearless in contrast to her being fearful. She attributes being fearful in every aspect of her life to being raised in an overly protective home by her parents. She never went through the typical teenage or young adult rebellion. She was very compliant. 

Why is it that she feels consumed by fear and unable to move on in the independence of her own life? And yet, at the same time I see her as more and more fearless as she tackles her new life. Do we only see our own fears? Does my friend not remember that there was a time in my life a few years ago that I was consumed by fear myself? That she herself had lent me sound advice on the topic? 

Fear in my life was enveloped in my professional life. Frankly, it happened over a period of years, until fear kept me from moving forwards, it was paralyzing. An office that once felt like an extension of home that was a happy place changed in dynamics and became a place of dread to tread to five times a week. Each day the hands on the clock seemed to be sticky like peanut butter and jam on your fingers as I waited for the workday to end. 

Each day I would look at the household budget, thinking, planning, telling myself today was the day I was going to retire early. There were aspirations on the horizon that I had kept putting off and I was not getting any younger. After decades of working in a field that was second nature to me but not my passion, I wanted to pursue those aspirations.

Each night as I grumbled, then fell asleep, to be awoken with nightmares in a hot flash, I would make another excuse to get up and trudge off to the office. Its environment was toxic to my very essence and was turning my stomach into knots so tight the acid of the mildest food would find itself winding up my esophagus. FEAR. 

Fear of letting myself and others down. Fear of living in poverty. Fear of failing at my dreams. Fear of what people would think. Fear of hurting people that were hurting me. The list goes on. I had even lost my spiritual focus. I should have been relying on God and his power. 

It took enduring an emergency surgery and then the birth of my grandson a few weeks later for me to realize I needed to look straight into the eyes of my fear of quitting my job. The fear had gripped me, and I had to rip myself loose of it. I needed to trust in free falling for a while until my feet planted me on a new path. 

I thought the free falling would be scarier than staying in the toxicity. But, in that moment, as I closed the office door behind me for the last time, I felt such a release of fear. I breathed in lungs full of possibilities. God had been telling me that for the past three years, trust in him, he will supply. Sometimes you must leap with faith alone. 

The minute I leapt and let go of the fear, God supplied the peace. I was so afraid of failing myself and others that I was, in fact, failing myself and others. I will not lie; life is NOT all sugar and spice and everything nice now. But the quality of my life is so much better. In turn my health is too. I am happier. Watching my grandson is a joy in my daily life with a flexible schedule to write and tend the cows. Now I save the budget analogies for once a month.

As I turn my attention back to the cows and what has spooked them, I see the fear in their eyes. I watch the cows gather in the calves and hover over them. I hear the distinct crack of a gunshot wafting through the air. That is what is causing the cow fear in this moment. They wait with ears up and alert. Protecting the calves by putting them in the center of a circle they have created with their bodies. 

After a few minutes and hearing no other danger, they settle and begin meandering back to the feeder there they once again enjoy their barley and alfalfa hay dinner. The calves sense their moms relax and up they jump. They are off running and chasing each other around the barnyard. Calf tag has resumed and what a pure joy it is to watch them. They are once again oblivious to fear and living in the moment again.

A healthy amount of fear keeps us safe with the clarity to make better decisions. An unhealthy amount of fear is toxic to our health and will keep us stuck in place just like concrete drying around our ankles until we need a jackhammer to break it lose. If we could only be fearless all the time like the newborn calves.

“Each of us must confront our own fears, must come face to face with them. How we handle our fears will determine where we go with the rest of our lives. To experience adventure or to be limited by the fear of it.” -Judy Blume

Once again, this year, it was discovered while removing the bull from the cows during calving season we had forgotten to put hay for him up in the bull pen. Each year it is always a different reason it is forgotten. This year was no different.

When hay was brought in, abnormally, months early. The co-op of farmers stacked it neatly in the barns and secured it by closing the doors and gates. We had forgotten to tell them to put a small stack by the bull pen. At the time it was the last thought from our brains because nothing was being housed there when hay was being brought in from the back fields.

There are worse things than bringing in a good supply of hay, early, before the weather turned. It did lead to today’s afternoon of exercise. I made a make-shift hay pulley out of heavy boards. Placing one end on the hay pile and the other end on the back of the ATV. I then slid the hay bales across the pulley system. This made it easier and safer on me than lifting and carrying each 75+ pound bale. 

I would have used the hay rollers but guess what? They were stored against the back wall of the barn out of the way. Last spring tidying up when we finished feeding the hay in the barn and turned the cows out to pasture, we put them out of the way. I know I had every intention of moving them before the hay was delivered but it came early. By the time I remembered the hay rollers the tractors had brought in over half the hay loads and they buried the rollers. By the time they are exposed next spring, we will have no need for them.

Today it was enjoyable to be out in the fresh cold crisp air. The last two days had been extremely frigid with the wind chill factor. The peaceful air without winds felt welcoming. I was fortunate to have my youngest grown daughter, who had the day off work and able to help me. When maneuvering around the ranch having an extra set of hands to open and shut gates makes life so much easier.

The flocks of wild turkeys were also enjoying the day. I counted two 50+ flocks fluttering about. One on either side of the swiftly flowing creek that was deep from the snow and rain of the past days. When I entered the barn there were a dozen turkeys roosting on the fence line around the feeder. Even though they are interesting creatures they in fact foul.

Spence the ranch dog found just how foul this past autumn when he decided they would be fun to chase. Did I mention Spence is not a working dog, he is a beloved pet who comes by his bird chasing nature easily as a golden lab retriever mix.

Anyhow, Spence took to chasing the wild turkeys and found after the second time they did not back down to his barking and chasing. They instead formed a circle around him and began pecking him. Once we scared them off, which was not easy to do without them coming at us, he always gives them a wide berth if not the whole paddock or jumps in the ATV and cowers under the seat.

Duke (or Duke of Earl as I call him) is the ranch’s Hereford bull of the last two years was standing at the gate to the barn area when we pulled up to it. His highness was looking at the barn full of hay in gleeful anticipation of eating it. I could sense he wanted us to hurry up with our task at hand.

Duke is content being alone as he gets more attention and does not have to share hay. His only plight during the winter months is being housed in the pen next to Belle (my eldest daughter’s horse) a feisty eighteen-year-old Palomino.

Belle has no qualms about letting the cows or a 2500-pound bull know that she is in charge!

The task at hand today was done rather efficiently and we were back in the warmth of the house sooner than we had expected. Duke was happy and content eating hay from his feeder in the bull pen. By the time calving season was over he would be ready to be back out in the pastures grazing on soft tender green grasses.

The most amazing thing that I remember from the second year of managing cows had nothing to do with cows.  It was the birth of a white fawn. A beautiful, rare animal she was! But I’m getting ahead of myself.

There was older doe who called the ranch her home and would often be seen on the ridge line of the trees. On a rarer day I would see her with one or two other younger does. One day she was grazing and had a little fawn with her. I was happy for her as she always seemed lonely. 

Then one day another younger doe wandered in with a fawn of her own. There was nothing usual about this little fawn. It had an all-white body with brown spots, a brown head, and white legs. The fawn was so cute but could have easily been in the circus for its rare, unusual markings…

When the fawn was only a few weeks old its mother was hit by a car and died. This was tragic. The fawn would surely perish too without it’s mother. Then something amazing happened. The older doe that wandered the ranch instantly adopted the fawn and let her nurse. This is a rare occurrence. It was a miracle.

We and all the neighbors of the ranch adopted the trio as it was just so heartwarming. All of us began leaving apples and grain out for them. We were all quite protective of them keeping watchful eyes on them.

When it came time for the deer mothers to leave their young, we all worried what would happen to the little white deer fawn. Then the third miracle happened. The white fawn and her adopted sibling met up with two other fawns their age. I would often time find them in Belle’s (my daughter’s horse) pasture grazing down by the swale pond.

As the next year went by the white fawn transformed into a doe herself. Though she looked rather peculiar she was accepted by the other deer, and she was still alive and thriving. During this time one of the state agencies wanted to come and trap her to study her. Now at first this sounded good, in theory, until we found out the way they wanted to study her was by dissecting her.

We and the neighbors around the ranch all said “no” and decided instead that she would be the mascot for the area. Each day as I would see her, I was reminded that some things in life are not meant to be “normal”, they are as unique as God would have them be.

Unfortunately, despite ours and our neighbor’s diligence in trying to preserve this rare and beautiful creature, we failed. There were people around our rural area that just didn’t the same way. And by the following year the white deer had a bounty on her head by some local trophy hunters. 

I do not call them hunters because they do not take a life to eat and be useful. They are only in it for the thrill of the hunt and the head mounted on the wall and a hide to perhaps throw on the floor. I have no use for these individuals.

It was a sad and dark day when one of them shot the white deer on protected private property. A neighbor to the ranch, hearing the gunshot, called the authorities. The authorities showed up so quickly that the trophy hunters ran without their trophy. The white deer was dead. The white deer was laid to rest while we and fellow neighbors mourned. Such a rare and beautiful loss. We have not seen a deer with her coloring or markings, before nor since.

When it is time to give birth cows will do just about anything to calf where they were birthed. I have watched this firsthand for over ten years now. Why is this? I don’t have a PHD in cow phycology but I’m leaning towards instinct versus memory recall.  I didn’t have the memory of my birth to take me on a trip to New Orleans when my first or for that matter second daughter was born. Even though my eldest daughter was born during Mardi Gras just like I had. 

It didn’t invoke a memory of funky costumes, colorful beads, or itching to dance in the streets during the foot parades engulfing the narrow streets of the city. If I had relied on memories of my birthing experience it would include the doctor being interrupted from his party in the French Quarter, during the wee hours of the morning, where he lived. The doctor not having enough time to change out of his white suit and white suede dancing shoes to deliver me. Odors of alcohol and cigars lingering on him. And of course, his loud barking orders to the nurses in regards to my screaming mother, “put her out”! 

Instead, my earliest memories take me back to around 3 years of age. They are like bursts of pictures bouncing from image to image in my head. They are bright and vivid and then suddenly cloudy and diminished leaving me questioning if they are real memories at all.

I pondered this quite a bit last year as I held my grandson and introduced him to some of the new calves. He was happy, giggly, and squirmy as he met the calves face to face. They smelled him. He tried to grab hold of their ears and pet them as he did his kitty cats at home. 

He didn’t look at me like, “what grandma – I wasn’t born here.” The calf he was petting like all the other ones before her, wouldn’t come back to the barn alcove to have her calves someday. No, if allowed to, she would traipse a half a mile from the barnyard to the overflowing creek banks under the low-lying brush surrounded by wild thorny rose bushes to give birth. Yes, I would stake my fortune on it. If I had a fortune. I am, after all, in the cattle business and anything in agriculture will always be cents on the dollar.

The oldest cow of the herd was born on December 17th, 2010. It was my first day experiencing cow births on the job. She was birthed right next to the lower barn’s green paddock gate. She was covered in muck as she dropped in a wet half snow, half rain, fully muddy and boggy, water-soaked ground right at 5pm during feeding time. 

Cows that were stuck outside the gate were blocked from entering to get their hay. This caused quite a cow jam until her mother nudged her to stand. On wobbly little legs she moved about fifteen feet until they were out of the way of the cow traffic. 

Noel has hundreds of acres to birth her calves on and yet all eight of them have been born within 50-100 feet of that green gate. Five of them right beside it. Does that green gate have a special memory for Noel? I highly doubt it. But her instinct pulls her towards that green gate each calving time. It is a place where she feels at peace and she finds comfort in the familiarity of it. To my recollection I have never seen her by that gate any other time of the year.

Calving in February of 2019 brought such challenges, physical endurances, and sorrows. This year the same subzero temperatures, wind chill factors, snow falling, and ice on the ground were predicted during calving. At this prediction we decided to shut the gates to open pastures and restrict the pregnant cows to a more modest but manageable ten acre parcel adjacent to the barnyards.

We wanted to avoid snowmobile trips out to the back forty late in the night to rescue a calf and cow in three plus feet of snow. We didn’t want to be scooping half frozen calf’s, minutes after birth, in howling subzero winds off the ground. Nor must bring the calves inside the ranch house and warm them by the old woodstove away from their mothers. And we especially didn’t want to have to make a temporary calf morgue in the shed as the relentless weather conditions stole 20% of our calves despite our hard work round the clock along with all the other ranchers in the area.

Some of the cows have been a little indignant about this change and waited at the exterior gates for quite some time before choosing an alternate birthing area. There was plenty of vastly different terrains in the ten-acre parcel. Acres that housed tree lined hills with massive Ponderosa Pines. Low-lying swale grass next to the swale creek and level ground with frozen grass. Or even for some of their preferences wind blocks right next to the different barns and feeding areas. 

They should have appreciated the fresh water sources including a heated trough where they didn’t have to break thru the ice. The abundance of barley straw to bed down on. Lights, sturdy fences, and humans that kept the predators away unlike the vulnerability of them out in the pastures. But NO, at least half of them were not appreciative at ALL…Cows. After all they had their birthing instincts, and they did not like us changing them.

However, there is a couple of the cows, one in particular, SnowLily, that almost smiled when I shut the gates off to the open pastures. She had been born in the paddock between the ranch house and the upper barn some seven years ago. Her mom was recuperating from a sore hoof at the time. SnowLily now expects to deliver each of her calves in that very spot.

I had that paddock closed off to allow for an injury or a calf that might need extra care. Each day the past week SnowLily has stood and starred at the closed gate to what she must consider her “utopia” birthing area. Most days I find that she is not her normal friendly self but instead she looks at me like a llama wanting to spit at me. 

Then as luck would have it for SnowLily we had a calf born a few days ago that needed a bit of extra special care for the night. When we were finished with the paddock no one shut the gate. So, I was not a bit surprised to find SnowLily in there last night in the exact spot she was born. She had waited to give birth in that exact spot. She was content and resting with her new little heifer calf when I came in to do evening chores. SnowLily had certainly shown the cow whisperer.

As I did my midnight check of the cows last night, I took in the crisp, clear, and unusually calm night air in. The sky illuminated every constellation visibly. The moon casting just enough light to see the shadows of the cows stationed around the calves who were sleeping soundly in the barnyard. I thought, yes, this is the life. 

I will never tire of the calving season or the cows themselves. It all brings me such peace in the busy world. I’m sure this night that they feel the same as I. They have such trust for me as I move about them and none of them stir. They feel safe and at peace also. I walk past the two cows left to calf and I tell them softly it will be okay even though I’m not letting them out. 

If I did their instincts will take one to the creek bed a half a mile out or the other to the large pasture down the road. Instead, in this new set up they will be safe where I can assist quickly if needed. As I turn to head out of the barnyard the yip, yip, yip of a coyote is heard on the ridgeline behind me, and one calls back from somewhere farther away.

Yes, the cows are safe for the night, and I know I will sleep well too. My instincts have guided me to do what’s best on the cows behalf. Hopefully in the morning there will be time enough to deal with the pesky ravens that have flown in and made a nuisance of themselves tormenting the young calves.