A Shift

As I squatted in the dark and snow,
Phil’s headlamp illuminating just enough
To see the baby take each teat in turn,
I remembered the rage such tasks used to bring.

For so long, I had no margin.
To spend a half hour with a needy calf
Meant a half hour less to read to the boys,
Or a half hour less of work or sleep (both vital).

I monetized everything I could. I felt I must.
How much had this calf cost us thus far?
We would never see those hours again.
Is this calf—anything—worth the effort, the expense?

And I sat there today and thought,
I have time now for a few minutes a day for Facebook.
I write poems when I wish. I read to the boys as I please.
Today I spend my free time being hospitable to a calf.

Thanks be to God for the life.

A Story

Phil was ready to check on the new calf
Early in the afternoon,
When I suggested a different task
That required a run to the local hamlet.
Before he left, I asked if he wanted to check on the calf
First. He chose not to. I didn’t push it. He left.

A few hours later, home once more, I asked again.
He headed out. And found that

The calf had somehow pushed her way
Into a little gulley where the mom could not finish licking her.
The baby had not yet eaten.
This should never happen.
Babies need the mother’s colostrum in the first half hour
Before the stomach lining changes and the window is lost.
Shivering, unable to stand, the baby needed
Help.

Phil carried her up to the calving shed.
We gave them a bit of time to recover from the trauma of the move
Before we went to intervene.

Phil held the cow. I milked her.
We tried tubing the baby,
Bypassing the mouth and going directly to the stomach.
The problem is, if the tube goes to the lungs,
You kill the baby.
It’s a drastic threat to work with.

So we sort of half tubed the baby,
And I think she had some.
Then we tried bottle feeding, but that didn’t work.
Then I tried propping her up and getting her to nurse.
Then Phil did that while I went to reheat the now-chilled colostrum.
If we needed to tube the baby, really, we could do that.
I returned to find the baby gingerly nursing.

Before bed, we rousted mom and daughter
And made the daughter eat from each teat.
Will that be enough for her to live through tonight?

We shall see.

But the real story, to me,
Is that I don’t view this all as entirely my fault.

Yes, I did arrest Phil’s initial progress out the door to check on the baby.
And I didn’t insist, before he left for town,
That he simply check.
Both of those were opportunities I should have pressed:
Both times I felt a check in my spirit.

In the past, I would have carried the weight of this
Entirely.

But it is not entirely mine.
Yes, I ignored the prompting of the Holy Spirit.
But I suspect (though I have not confirmed) that I was not the only one.

For now, the calf lives

With Adam and Eve,
Who can no longer hear the voice of God clearly.

Happy Sad Happy

Phil’s morning report.

Happy:
Cow that lost outer horn
Yet lives.

Sad:
Calf born Monday
Now dead.

Happy:
New calf born.

For me, the sad takes
Precedence.

Bath Time

Caleb liked the tub enough that
I expected him to like the ocean.
Holding my hand, we walked across the sand.

When the quarter inch of water
From the very edge of a tiny wave
Ran up on his feet,
He cried out in a loud voice,
His whole body quivered,
And he clung to me.

The sound of the ocean,
For days after, made him cry
And shake in my arms
Until he fell asleep as fast as he could.

And as sad as this story is,
I wonder if his loud cry and trembling
Was actually the right response
To the terror and wonder
Of water running uphill,
Wetting what was dry,
A tiny edge of force from immensity.

For today, I am just happy
He finally squatted in the tub again
Of his own volition.
Maybe in four more months,
The trauma of the moment will have passed
And he will actually sit down.

Blood on the Snow

Phil gasped.
Five crows flew up from our pasture.
Blood on the snow.
Binoculars showed a cow with a bloody horn.
A goring?

No.
The tough outer horn stuck
On the mineral feeder
And tore off.

Internet chats claim this happens sometimes.
Undoubtedly it hurts.
It is not fatal and requires no intervention.

This on a day I already wondered
If all that could go wrong
Had gone wrong.

I am not sure whether I am
Thankful or
Cynical
For this reminder:
There is always something else.

Confused

Awake through the night,
I thought about the things that
Went wrong.
The random ram who showed up
From, literally, God knows where,
And leapt into me.

Gored by a cow.

The hive after hive that failed,
From extreme weather and
Insufficient experience and
New baby distraction and
Weak queens.

The lambs that died in birth and
Early childhood.

The chickens that died
From heatstroke,
Dog attack,
Fox attack.

The chicks who carried a virus
That made them infertile
And struck our laying hens infertile
Overnight.

The trees that don’t thrive.

We tried so, so many things.
We were as faithful
To our call
As we knew how to be.

From a farming perspective,
It made no difference.

I suppose I can be thankful
I’m not awake in the night often
To think about these things.

Sick Baby

After a week of cough and snot,
Caleb came up feverish.
He sits on my lap and just
Rests.
I don’t mind.
Except for morning sickness,
I think the last time I was sick
Three days in a row
I was a sophomore in high school.
We can be miserable
Together.
Presumably there is some comfort in that.