One With Nature

Do you ever feel one with the world? One with nature? At peace with all that surrounds you, almost as if you could step out onto the porch, reach your arms out, have a few little birds perch on them, squirrels nuzzle at your ankles and maybe even understand what the rabbits are saying?

Nah, me either. That's only in Disney movies, right?

However, today, I felt sympathetic with our mama cows. Joe is weaning the calves, as they are big enough to be solely fed by pasture and hay. Just as a mother weans her baby, these calves need to be on their own, will be fine, but the mamas, I'm not so sure about.

The weaning process is a little different from what I read when I was expecting our first child. In the Breastfeeding Resource Handbook (otherwise known as a book to make you feel inadequate if you a) didn't nurse your children or b)wanted to ever wean ever), the authors suggested a joint decision with your child about weaning. No date, no age, no time line...just let it happen. Well, if you've ever nursed a one-year old...it's kind of hard to have an honest, open discussion about nursing.

I'm digressing.

Anyway, so weaning calves is a little bit science and a lot of just separation, from the way I see it...rather, hear it from my window. Joe notes the size, age, etc. of the calves, and by the sign of the moon and the Farmer's Almanac, he then decides which days each set of calves will be weaned.

Seems easy enough, right?

Except for the fact that you have to move the cows, separating them from the calves, or vice versa, to a completely separate pasture, and then keep each set of cattle from looking for one another.

And what does a mom do when she can't see her child?

She yells.

She hollers.

She BELLOWS.

So, this is what we have been listening to since last night. Our mama cows across the road are looking for their babies, feeling the pain of sore udders, and wondering what the heck is going on.

I feel so sorry for them. I'm so lame, I know, but I can't help but wonder what those mamas are thinking. They can't find their babies. They are in pain. I want to go over there and tell them the calves are just a little ways away, but, unlike my Disney-fied nature girl version of myself, I don't speak cow.

The beauty of cattle, however, is that after a day or so, they'll all be fine. The calves will continue to frolic in the pasture, now growing bigger and stronger on grass and hay. The mamas will be reunited, sort of, with the babies in a while, but will not have reuniting like a movie, running through the pasture to their long lost babies...more like a "Hey! Where you been?" moment, and then move on to their next patch of grass.

For now, I'll listen to the mamas and feel sorry for them. I wonder when I will get used to and quit feeling sorry for the cattle at this time of year. Maybe never. However, in a few days, like the cattle, I'll note the silence and shoo away the birds, squirrels and rabbits on my way out the door!

Foster Care

We have been blessed with a pretty uneventful calving season. Well, not completely uneventful. However, compared to the first two years that we calved, the first year including a calf being born in the muck during Anna's 3rd birthday party and the following year when every calf was born in some sort of inclimate weather, it's been a good year.

However, this morning, Joe found a calf who had gotten into a fence line, and I will spare the details, but the calf did not make it. I hate it when this happens. Joe hates it when this happens, but these unfortunate events do occur now and again. However, we are surrounded by other cattle farmers, and had just received a phone call this past weekend from a neighboring "rancher" who had a calf who needed a mama. I can't remember if it was a twin who was rejected, or a calf who had lost his mother, but this neighbor was looking for a good home for an orphan.

At the time, we didn't need a superfluous calf, but as we speak, Joe is working with this sweet little thing and the mother who lost her baby today, trying to get the two to learn to love each other. The foster care program at the ranch has begun.

This all starts with nursing. If the mama can accept the calf and allow it to nurse, and the calf will take to this new mama, then all is well, and, like a good foster parent, the calf will be treated like he or she is her own. We're hoping that this is the case tonight. I'm hoping it's smooth and quick, considering it's been a gorgeous day, and I have three dirty kids who need baths, and I can hardly bend over.

But, I digress. This process is interesting to me. Cows and their "original" calves have a tight bond, that's for sure. Joe has experienced many a near miss with some ticked off mamas when he has tried to tag (or pierce) the ears of the new babies. Like any good mama, no girl wants her baby messed with (see any new mother as her baby is being passed around a baby shower or the church nursery). However, like any loving being, a mama cow also knows that all creatures need to be cared for and nurtured, and thus the simple act of nursing this calf will create a bond that will be as tight as if she had given birth to this little one herself.

It's amazing to me how something that is so much a business for us, something that inconveniences my ability to do this or that can really get to me as a mother.

Either that, or it's hormones.

The Gigantic Baby Bottle

If Joe ever needs a Halloween costume...I'm looking at a potential prop, sitting right next to my sink: a seriously huge baby bottle.



Yes, I am in nesting mode for our newest arrival, but NO, we will NOT be utilizing this bottle...however, we were a little desperate the other night with friends who were over and needed a bottle, but they didn't think it would work.



Anyway, why do I have an enormous baby bottle? Am I planning for a big baby, one that rivals those in the pages of the National Enquirer? Is Joe truly going to be wearing a baby bonnet and carrying around this prop come October? No, it's just another perk of being a cattleman's wife! Not only do I have to wash the freshly "birthed" upon overalls, check the pockets for random syringes and chains and calving books, I also get to wash this monstrosity.

I lead one heck of a glamorous life, don't I?

Back to the bottle: the purpose of this bottle today was to help a calf that was born nearly 40 to 50 pounds over the normal birth weight of calves. Joe found this big/little guy this morning, and not only did he note that he was huge for a calf, he realized quickly that this "little" dude was in need of assistance. The calf couldn't maneuver his way to his mama and figure out how to eat. Thus, Joe became his own chapter of the Cow Le Leche League, and the big bottle came into use.

We're hopeful that this calf is going to make it, but the odds are against him. Tube feeding (just like it sounds...stick a tube down the calf's throat and feed him/her milk) can be a good thing, but one slight misplacement, and the fluid could run to the calf's lungs, and kill it. It's actually very nerve wracking, and if one factors in that Joe has a tender heart, and often feels responsible when a calf has trouble nursing or even dies, it's also very stressful.

Our hope is that we can just wash the bottle up and tease guests with small children about using it, and hope that our calves will be smart enough to nurse on their own. Here's to hoping.

Is It Here?

Has spring sprung?
Are we just being teased?
Should I be rejoicing the melt of our nine thousand inches of snow?

Well...maybe, on all accounts.

Around here, when we get above 40, you would think that it's early June. Everyone's a little bit antsy to bare his or her arms and legs. Illinoisans are opening windows, letting fresh air and sunshine stream in. I'm celebrating by wearing flats with no socks, all the while being cautious around the enormous puddles of melted snow in parking lots. Runners are running outside (that WILL be me again...next year). Kids are having outdoor recess. Life is grand.

But, it might just be a fake out, because there have been many a cold and snowy March and even April, so I am just making the best of the next few days.

I washed my car.

Which sounds like a great plan, considering the temperature would no longer freeze my doors shut or freeze ice on my windshield as I drive away from the car wash. However, I did have to drive home, and as I turned on my road, I decided my choice to wash my car might not have been the most intelligent decision in the world that day.

Our road was nothing but a mucky, rutted mess.

Ahhh....country living. We live completely "off the beaten path," and with that comes a "gravel" road. I put gravel in quotation marks because after the winter, there are roughly four pebbles left on the road: those lucky little guys who survived the elements, the snow plow and the road grater. The road is rutted where it's soft, making a great home for nice muddy puddles. The ones my daughters would love to jump in, and the ones I tend to either swerve around or go about 5 miles per hour through, just to save my car's clean exterior for more than twenty minutes.

It is agony to this town girl who loves a clean car to live on this road. My dad is the same way. We drive about 15 MPH, maximum during this time of year, something my farmer husband finds ludicrous. He drives his farm truck about 40, coating the sides with the brownish-gray mud, and not worrying about a thing. He might wash it, but it also might rain, and considering he leaves it parked outside, who cares. He has other concerns during this partial thaw.

Calves are his main concern, of course. Thaws in mid-February are great for runners, flat-wearers, and puddle jumpers, but they are very, very hard on new calves. Older, stronger calves with bossy, experienced mothers tend to occupy the barn during this time. Not only is it warmer in the barn, but, most importantly, it is also dry. Thus, inexperienced, new heifers and their calves are left to rest in the mud and the muck, causing sickness, which is never good, especially in the early days of their lives. Just last night, Joe had to tube feed electrolytes to a dehydrated calf when it wouldn't take its bottle of "Cow Gatorade." Thankfully, this morning, the calf is doing much better, but while days like yesterday and potentially today make me think about washing windows and outside running, they can some times be detrimental to a young calf's life.

Are you sensing a theme here? Are you wondering why the heck we have cattle in the first place when nights like last night, which happened to be Valentine's Day, are spent in the dark and the cold nursing and then tube feeding a calf instead of snuggling with a lovely, but largely pregnant, wife?

Did you enjoy a steak dinner last night in celebration of Valentine's Day?

Thanks, from us, if you did. Your dinner may have paid for our car wash!

Happy Taste of Spring!