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

Within an Inch of Her Life

     Finding myself in the tractor on Wednesday, I had a few hours to clip our lush pastures.  A bit late in the summer for us due to the heavy amounts of rain we've had this season.  My previous two weeks had overwhelmed me so I welcomed the monotony of circling those green fields.  

     Although I believe my son gets his mowing skills from his Mother, because when I bore of the same section, I move to another for a change in scenery. 

     The day was bright and sunny, I was working outdoors and I crank up the IPod because I am in a "I can do anything" type of mood.  I slip on my sunglasses, not because I need them in a cab tractor but because I think I feel cooler with them on as I vibrate the windows of the Kubota with some classic rock.

     As I make my turns I leave the easy sections for last.  Making a few passes, I happen to glance from watching the edge of the brush hog in my drivers side mirror, to the front tire.  Simultaneously stomping on the brake as I punch the yellow PTO button, I stare into the tall grass.

     The massive tread of the black tire are within an inch of

chewing into a freshly born black calf.  Backing up a bit, my mind is still in "Surprise!" mode as I step down the metal rungs into the hot pasture.  We aren't due for our first Fall calf for a minimum of three weeks.   

     Approaching her, I scan the fields for any sign of Momma while I nudge the calf with my foot.  Nudging harder, it still is not moving.  Bending down I lift her to her feet while my eyes are darting left and right ensuring that I do not have an angry cow with me in her sights, I realize this heifer is unresponsive.  She is hot with only slow, slight movement in her eyes.  Oh dad gummit!

     I bawled many times and Cow 131 trots within fifty feet of us and acts like she doesn't know this is her calf.  Leaving the baby where she lay, my only assumption is to get her to the shade.  Trading the tractor for the truck, I'm wondering how I'm going to lift her onto the tail gate.  Four heaves later she is partially up there and I shimmy until she is fully loaded.   In hind sight, I should have just loaded her right onto the top of the brush hog.

     Unloading was a tad easier.  Momma doesn't want to have anything to do with her so I rub on her body, trying to get a response.  I then make a 20 minute round trip home and back, toting a bottle that I forced down her gullet.  Instantly I heard her belly grumble as the milk made contact with her tummy.

      Thirty-five minutes later, a third of the bottle was down her and she refused any more.  I rubbed her all over again and I found her

little cow eyes were no longer glazed over.  She called her Momma, weakly and I said, "I"ve done all I can do."  I continue to mow the grass, doing a "drive by" every so often.  An hour and a half later I see her swaying beside her Mother, suckling. 

     Ahhhhh............this day could not have gone any

better.............until I look over and I see Cow 149 crap out a calf of her own and stare as it hits the ground and immediately rolls off the back of the pond bank!  It landed a few feet below her in culvert of sorts and we both gawk in disbelief.  Cow 149 was the first to recover as she called out to her offspring. 

     I did try to pull it out of it's predicament, but I had a hormonal, angry cow try to charge off the embankment at me and I thought, "Let's end this day well."   I'll come back later with reinforcements to check on these two.  

     And that I did.   A couple of hours later when we checked both sets of cow/calf's, all was well with my day. 

     I am proud of this day because I have a fantastic teacher, who is patient and sees my eagerness to learn and who rarely puts boundaries on what I can attempt alone.  I have watched and listened for four years and felt I knew how to handle the situation without calling for help.  

     What I see is progress in myself and that I can have a boss, who is also my husband, put his trust in a herds woman, who is also his wife.

 Carey's Twitter

     

Farming: Another Hay Season

     For parents there are so many seasons in the year, more than just the normal four that we all are used to.  The same goes for farmers. 

     This year, Missouri's weather has just allowed us to get into the full swing of hay season.  Scrambling between heavy downpours that the summer thunderstorms have lent us.  

     The rain is a double edged sword.  We needed the rain something fierce, but as Mother Nature would have it, it is feast or famine.  

    On the up side,  I haven't had to water my garden once.  It is nearly July and our seasonal creek has not dried up yet.  The fields of grass are growing at phenomenal speeds.  The grass is so thick this year and with loads of clover!

     On the down side we are rushing to get into our fields when there is a three day stretch of only possible rain, crossing our fingers that we can get it baled before the next storm clouds roll in. 

 Why, with all of the frustrations of putting up hay, do I enjoy it so much?

   

     I do enjoy it more than those who do not have an air conditioned cab tractor, I would assume.  My partners did upgrade to an air cushioned seat as well.  That has made it quite a bit easier on my beat up body.  I do not have much to complain about when it comes to dealing with the heat of the hay field. 

     As a woman  and as one with handicaps, I do have to prepare for my days roaming up and down those lush pastures.  Doing this ensures that I can finish the job and in the best comfort possible. 

     Many days there is no bathroom facility.  We can only drip dry so many times before that becomes an issue.   Having toilet paper, napkins, paper towels or (old shirts?) in the cab is a huge convenience!

     Packing a cooler.  It is not always feasible to drive into town to grab lunch.  We lose precious time cutting grass and I must say it is quite nice to sit in the shade of the tractor tire or along the tree line and pop open a nice bottle of..................water, while watching wildlife or staring at the sky and relishing in how wonderful our lives really are. 

     Bringing a pillow of some sort to perch behind my lower back and frequent stretching with a bottle of Ibuprofen in the cup holder has become my staple. 

     We can sort out all of our problems in silence, except for the humming of the tractor or the swishing of the tedder.   We can also plug in an iPod and belt out everything from Merle Haggard to Motley Crue to Pink!   No one can hear how bad we sound and if it wasn't for our open mouths and limited dance moves showing through the glass windows, the other hay jocks would have no idea how much fun we are having!

     I am torn between loving the fields more when they are waist high or how clean and smooth they look as we roll out the last bale.  I love the feeling of accomplishment as I look across the bottom and view how much progress I've made in an afternoon. 

      I love knowing that I was involved in providing for our farm, the independence I have working alone or with one of my hay jocks and the satisfaction that I defied what professionals believed would never be in my daily activity again. 

     It does not matter what activity brings you these same feelings of accomplishment.  

Every accomplishment starts with one single decision. 

To Try.

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.