Within an Inch of Her Life:Part 2

     Last week I described to you how wonderful Wednesday ended for me, let's go right into Thursday.

     Another day of mowing grass and chomping up weeds.  Two sections of pasture were left before I could move to the West side of the acreage.  

     Yellow rays of sunshine were cascading down upon our farm this morning.  My first and immediate task was to locate the calves born the day before.  Summoning my amateur calf bawl, Cows 131 and 149 came running, right to calf 149.  

     Standing twenty feet from the calf and assessing that they were both calm and the calf was lazily climbing to his feet, I pulled the truck beside him and put a tag in it's right ear.

     Texting a photo to my husband with the words, safely and efficiently, he responded with, "How did I know?"  Without saying it he warned me to be careful and that I knew what he meant before leaving for work that morning.  Cow 149 was taking extreme security measures the evening before which did not allow my husband to tag her calf.  I didn't want to pass up an easy opportunity and I just love that I can accomplish it.

     Driving around the field, bawling, I could not summon Cow 131 to show me where she hid her baby girl.  Beginning with the section farthest from Calf 149, I began cutting grass.  Finishing I moved to that patch, again calling to Cow 131 and she will not give up her location. 

     Sighing, I cut the entire rectangle gritting my teeth, my body so tense that my shoulders were up to my ears and my eyes darting right and left constantly.  Assuming she hid her somewhere in the grass that I had cut the day before and I'm not able to see her, I move on. 

     Driving into the hay lot, I decide to clip the little bit of grass that

has grown up through the chat rock before moving onto the West ninety acres.  Unable to recall if there are any large rocks in there, I raise the mower deck a bit to be cautious.  

     I could only drive forward and back up to each fence line instead of turning around due to space.  Backing up for the last eight feet stretch, I shifted into forward, let the clutch out and hear the dreaded sound.

     For the second day in a row, I hit the PTO with my fist as I braked, idled down and threw the tractor into neutral with a plethora of emotions swarming over me.  I'm not sure how I exited the cab so quickly or how I did not stumble as I shuffled to the rear of the mower.  As I neared the fence, I saw her. 

     No. No, no, no, no, no.

     Her eyes tell me she has passed, but she looks perfect.  I instinctively reach out and her black hair is hot from the sun and her heart is beating ferociously against my palm.  I hope against the odds as a mere thirty seconds pass by as her heart slows to nothing.

     Looking her over, I find only a quarter size, "nick" on the back of her head.  As I pulled the mower forward, she had raised her head from her slumber.

     I'm sick with despair.  I took the very life that I had worked so hard to save the day before.  Sitting on the tire of the mower, my heart feels like there is an anchor tied to it.  This is not the first farm animal tragedy, but it is the first dealt by my hand.  It is not just the unnecessary life taken, but each farmer understands that a dead calf does not pay the bank note. 

     There is nothing left that I can do.  I tell her and her Momma, "Sorry bout that."  and climb pathetically into my tractor seat. 




 I was on a nineties music kick that day, my mouth fell open as my ears pick up on Ozzy Osbourne's voice singing these words, 

 "These are your final days.  See you on the other side."

    

 Shit. You. Not. 

 

 

   

   Ozzy's Song

Revelations from a Tractor Cab

      Tractor Time.

       Listening to the BS stories in the feed store, I hear many "good ole time" stories about driving the tractor down by the river, in the fields, hauling hay or the tractor unintentionally ending up in a location not normally meant for large machinery.  Then there are others that view it as a place they must spend time while they finish yet another task on their To-Do list.

     There are so many things that little space does for me.  It can be an escape from the daily grind.  From house chores, whom no woman/man thoroughly enjoys, I don't care how much you say you do, we know you are fibbing.  It is time alone to think or not to think at all.   Most of the time there is minimal signal on my phone, therefore, the calls asking or telling me what I must do when I leave my voluntary confinement, have to wait until I end my day and drive up the hills when the cell signal will reach me.

     My husband had a fit when I started attempting farm chores directly after finishing my time in a wheelchair of sixteen months.  He also noticed the determined set of my jaw.  He closed his eyes so he could hide how he rolled them all the way to the back of his skull and sat down with me to form a safe plan.  We now have a tractor with a cab(thank you!), one that the clutch is easily pushed to the floor, easily shifted into a new gear, has heat/air and an air cushioned seat.  I did not ask for all of these amenities, but if this is what my husband concludes is safe for me, then by all means I will accept.

     Because I did not walk much until my third year of recovery, my time in the tractor was limited.  Once I got there, I could only climb in and out two or three times before my ankles would collapse.  We practice rotational grazing on our home farm, so this was a challenge as I would have to open and close gates to reach my destination.  Many of my adventures were me sitting, looking out the back window, then at the cows, estimating if I could complete my duty before any cows found the opening, which meant I could mark one climb out of the cab off my list if I did not close the gate.  There was a time when I estimated every length of a walk and how many steps it would take to get there, so saving any amount of extra effort was mulled over.

     My farm pardners are inexplicably patient with my injuries and amount of time it takes me to complete my endeavors.  They are also patient when it doesn't work out so well and I send them a picture of my "Oh shit, this happened today".  Amusement at my texts while they are in meetings, me questioning why I simply cannot figure out how to hook certain machinery together or understand why it will not start because a particular lever must be in a certain position beforehand.  I have flipped off every piece of farm machinery we use.  When you have been performing these functions for much of your life, you take for granted the elementary check list you go through each of these times, but for someone like me who is in the field alone and I remind you, very little signal ( no "how to" YouTube videos) it can be purely exasperating!  I grew up with a 1936 Continental tricycle tractor, then to my husbands 1970's John Deere and I was always deemed the driver not the hooker upper.  

     Today though, I can almost always figure things out and am at the point that I can utilize my hours to rid my mind of any conflicts or use it to interpret those conflicts.  There are days when I just

want to sit in the silence of the cab, let the drone of the engine or swish of the tedder, take my thoughts to nowhere specific.  Plugging in my iPod, I may sing anything from Alabama to Nelly to White Snake, inadvertently conducting my own concert right here in rural America.  I do not know what the cows think of me or my singing, namely because I do not speak cow, but they say the same dang thing every time they talk anyway, so who really knows.  

     Those other days, I speak to myself from the time I enter to the time I leave that tiny space.  Working through my personal struggles, praying for peace and understanding and hoping my life continues in the wonderful direction it is traveling.  Society conveys that we must look to others to be the hero in our life, while I agree that life is made easier with the support of others, I believe we can all be heroes in our own lives.  We, as individuals, are at the helm, right?  We ultimately decide what direction we are going to take, whether we will get up and make it a great day or drown in the sorrows of our dark thoughts.  Hardships are put in our way, not to stop us, but to call out our courage and strength.  Our character is always up to us.  As I sit in the middle of a field, I smile at once again having a focus besides recovering from my injuries.  There is one thing that I crave the most from these times, one thing that I must have in my life to survive and that is accomplishment.  I cannot live without it, I must have a purpose.


    
      Whether I have a grand revelation or not, at the end of my farm day, I always appreciate that I am going to be A-Okay.  If there is one piece of advice that I will  pass on to every farmer, man, woman or child, it is:

Always. Close. the Gate.