April 10, 2022
Today is my grandmother’s birthday. I cannot even describe the grief that
consumes me when I remember that she is no longer, physically here and that I
cannot call and wish her a Happy Birthday.
I miss her so very much. I am so
very thankful for the influence she had upon my life (and the lives of so many
others). I hate to think what my life
would have been if I had not known her unconditional love. Sometimes when others remark that I am like
her, my heart swells with gratitude that someone would think that of me, but I
think to myself, “No. No one was or ever
will be like my grandmother.” She was
one of a kind, so full of goodness, that there can never be another like her. I
do, however, strive to be more like her every day and it is a worthy, although
unattainable goal.
I did think of her this past week as I literally “went the
extra miles” to be with my granddaughters and fill in the gap while their momma
attended a conference. I knew that my
grandmother would have done the very same thing for me and for my grandkids as
I was doing for her great-grandchildren.
I wonder if she was ever tired and if she ever wondered where she would
get the energy when she volunteered to take care of my children for me all
those years ago in Alaska? Surely, she
must have been exhausted at times, for I
am always tired when I spend time with my grandkids, and I can’t think that she
wasn’t tired as well. Yet, she always
seemed bright, cheerful, and full of energy.
No. I can never be the woman she
was.
When my grandkids left after their visit last week, I was left
with a cold. It seems like I simply can’t
be around others recently without picking up anything that’s contagious. Even if they are barely affected with such
mild version of whatever virus it might happen to be that they don’t even
appear ill, it seems I will “catch” it and the severity will be
multiplied. Such was the case with the
cold. We just assumed the girls were
dealing with allergies (and perhaps that was all it was) but I ended up with a full-blown
head cold. The good news is, typical of
most colds, the symptoms went completely away after six days. I was determined, cold or not, to catch up on
some things that had been left undone the week before when the grands were
visiting. I didn’t get nearly the things
accomplished that I had hoped, but at least I made some progress. I’m getting enough milk right now that I can
only get two days’ worth of milk in the refrigerator, which means a lot of my
time is spent making dairy products. (But
that will change soon because one of my higher producing cows is being sold
this week. That will make things much
more manageable.) When I was making
products for share members, I didn’t mind the long hours in the kitchen. Now that I am making products only for Mike
and me, the extra milk has become somewhat of a burden. I don’t want to waste it, but I don’t want to
spend all my time in the kitchen. There
are other things I want to do. I am
looking forward to the lighter load and less time in the kitchen making dairy
products and all in less than a week now!
Thursday around noon, after milking the cows and fixing
Mike and I bite to eat, I ran an errand and then made my way north by two hours
to where my granddaughters live. I had
just enough time to unload my car and visit the restroom before going back
outdoors to wait for the girls to get off the school bus. We had a little less than an hour to get a
snack and change into dance clothes before heading forty-five minutes further
north for their dance lessons. I do love
my grandbabies to commit to so much interstate driving! The traffic was horrific, and I am no longer
a seasoned driver, especially on such a busy interstate. For the last five years, I have driven very
little, allowing Mike to drive when we go long distance, and honestly rarely
leaving home alone. Driving makes me
white knuckled and a nervous wreck unless it is on country roads. It seemed like we were hardly there before the
dance lessons were over and we were back on the road again. We arrived back to the girl’s home around 7
pm. With their normal bedtime of 7:30,
it didn’t leave us much time to accomplish the things we needed to do. I sent them off for baths and I warmed up
soup I had brought with me for them to eat.
Rory said she didn’t want soup, but I warmed her up a bit anyway knowing
that she would taste it and then ask for more, which she did. I did let them stay up about an hour past
their bedtime and then I let them sleep with me. The night was long with the two little girls
in bed with me, but I was happy to have them close, knowing that it won’t be
long until they are “too big” and no longer wanting to sleep with their
grandma. And, while the community where
they live was fairly quiet, I am not used to sleeping with city lights beaming
all night as we do not even have a dusk to dawn light and our rural skies are
only lit by the moon and stars when they are visible. Knowing the neighbors on either side of my
daughter’s rental could look out their windows and into ours was a bit
disconcerting for this introvert, although the neighbors on both sides seemed
like nice enough people who mind their own business.
Sometimes, it’s nice to go away just to be reminded of how
much we take for granted. I feel like I
am grateful for our rural life, our wide-open spaces, our natural night skies, and
that our neighbors are a comfortable distance away. However, in the last five years,
I have forgotten how busy and congested the counties are to the north of
us. For anyone who thinks of rural,
southwest Virginia as backwards and less than inhabitable, I hope they continue
to think that way. The inconvenience of
having to drive 20 minutes to get to the first real grocery store or 45 minutes
to franchised department store is nothing if it keeps the traffic and
congestion of busy people occupied elsewhere.
Oh, I know I sound so inhospitable, but there are precious few places
anymore that offer a simple life and refuge for people such as myself! I felt competent in my abilities to navigate
the more populated space and take good care of the girls, but after five years
of living a homesteading life in Southwest Virginia, it all felt a bit foreign
to me. As I pulled in my driveway the next morning, it was with a deep sense of
gratitude for being able to live the life I live, no matter how odd it seems to
other people. The time with the girls was
precious. I am thankful for it. I am also extremely thankful to be home.
April 11, 2022
The dreaded, annual, cattle working day arrived. I don’t care how calm a herd of cattle may be
or well a couple works together on other tasks, working cattle will test the
patience of the calmest of farmers. None
of my cattle are wild, the majority are easy to handle, but there are a couple
who have a mind of their own. Once that
first bovine reacts to being given a vaccine, the others are wary. And, I can’t say that these two farmers
remain patient and calm. Despite our public
persona, we are not that couple that can finish each other’s sentences, know
what the other is thinking, and function together as a well-oiled machine.
Nope.
Not one bit.
Mike and I are both fiercely independent, work best alone, approach
EVERYTHING from an entirely different perspective and with different methods to
accomplish the task at hand. In fact, most
of the time, I believe we speak an entirely different language. As a result, the only way we can work “together”
is to divide the tasks and each one take charge of a portion. Even then, it’s not always pretty. For the first twelve years of our “togetherness”
we managed this speed bump in our relationship mostly by maintaining two
separate farms, each of us “in charge” of our own interests. Sure, I would help him with produce or some
other tasks that required two people, and he would spread manure, build fences,
and manage the larger tasks with the heavy equipment on the farm where I ran my
cow share program. Mostly though, I managed my own affairs, and
he managed his. When we moved to Laurel
Fork, that changed. At first it felt
like a honeymoon all over again but that was somewhat short lived. This was especially true after we moved the
cattle from Staunton. Now don’t get me
wrong, I am deeply appreciative of my still strong and capable man who helps me
carry my milking equipment, mucks the manure from the lounging areas of the
barn, keeps round bales in the feeders, carries the heavy square bales of hay,
keeps my fences intact and free of broken limbs, and carries my heavy milk
buckets back to the house. I’m just no
longer physically able to do those things daily and it’s because of him that I
can keep farming in the way I love to farm.
But, transitioning from only seeing each other for an hour or two before
falling in bed exhausted most of the first twelve years we were a couple, and
being in close proximity for the majority of our days and nights the last five
years has not been without its challenges.
And, there’s absolutely nothing more challenging than working cattle
together.
Because Mike and I look at EVERYTHING from a different
angle and each have our own unique approach to the task at hand, we must decide
who is going to be in charge of a task and then the other spouse has to try to
keep their mouth shut and go along with the program.
Ummm…..that’s easier said than done for both of us.
Mike rambles.
Whatever he is thinking comes out of his mouth and he is usually talking
even if I am not listening. (Don’t tell
him, but I’m usually NOT listening!) I,
prone to sensory overload and an introvert who internalizes everything, must
think everything through until it is well overthought. I hold my opinions inside
(especially if I think they are not going to be well received) and then when I
feel pushed, frustrated, or angry everything comes out in a rush with an
emotional intensity that can be overly dramatic.
Mike tends to quickly
treat issues as if they are worst case scenario, expressing these sudden negative
thoughts, and then attacking the situation with what seems to me like haphazard
and random energy. I tend to look at things initially from an analytical point
of view, holding back my anxiety and trying to approach things with a Pollyanna
attitude even if fear or angst is gripping my heart. Mike’s sudden and loud pronouncements of
impending doom and worst-case scenarios sometimes almost make me shut down (a
trauma response from me) and then I have difficulty functioning in the
moment. My hesitation and responses to
what is just a part of his outgoing and outspoken nature are not understood by
him and even after 17 years together, we must work daily on communication,
response, and reactions. And mostly, we
just divide tasks and work independently.
Of course, there are some things that simply must be
tackled as a couple, and working cattle is one of them. Mike, who must wrangle any animal that needs
wrangling because he is physically the strongest has also been working cattle probably
for as many years as I have been on this earth and has the most experience with
it. (Never mind that would have made him
seven years old when he started. He and
his brother where helping out on the dairy farm that his grandfather established
as soon as they were out of diapers it seems.
How I loved to hear his dad tell the story of taking Mike on the tractor
with him when Mike was still a tiny thing.
When Mike would fall asleep, Pops would lay him along the fence row in
the grass to nap while he continued to work in the fields.) It just seems natural that Mike be “in charge”
of vaccinating the cattle.
I like to work out all the details in my head, have a
dedicated plan to put the cattle through for their shots, an exit plan, etc. I am not saying that Mike doesn’t have a plan
in his head but inevitably his plan will be completely different than mine and there’s
not active communication of the goals and procedures. I like to talk through a
process with someone before I tackle it.
Mike just jumps in and we figure it all out along the way.
In case one has never worked cattle and thinks that the
stress I am describing is unique to us, it is not. When dealing with large livestock who
potentially become excited and have a mind of their own and who don’t relish
being driven into a small area and having their head caught and their sides
squeezed so that they can be stuck with a needle, it is just a given that the
humans working the cattle get excited at some point in the process. Mike helped a local farmer work his unhandled
herd of Angus and mixed breed cattle last week.
It was an extremely dangerous situation with some of the cattle jumping
gates and fences and angry bovines looking for revenge on the men disturbing
their world. Mike took a significant
kick to the leg, just missing the groin area, that hit his cell phone in his
pocket and left a nasty bruise. Where he
fell back against the fence from the impact, he had another bruise on his
backside. Evidently there was a lot of
yelling and cursing that day from all of the men involved.
Thankfully, my cattle are calm and while they might get a
bit worked up and try to avoid getting sent through the headgate and given a
shot, I’m thankful they are manageable.
The cows who come in to be milked, we vaccinated right in the
stanchion. That was easy. There were four of them. Two more of the cows willingly walk into the
stanchion for a treat, bringing the total up to six we vaccinated with no
problem. Then we started in with the “brood”
cows and bulls needed to run them into the headgate. Immediately we faced an issue. We had been using an old headgate that Mike’s
dad had welded and made from scratch years and years ago. It’s quirky and difficult to use. Mike had recently purchased a manufactured,
used head gate and installed it, replacing the old one made by Pops. We had not had reason to run any cattle
through it before the vaccination process began and the first cow we tried to “catch”
in the headgate didn’t trip the thing so that it would close on her neck. I tried to manually push it close as she was
quickly trying to back out and we found out that the neck portion was too tight
and would need to be adjusted. We had no
choice but to let the cow back out and with her being one that had been
predominantly raised in the beef herd for most of her adult life, she is not a
pet and has been handled less than the others.
Wary now, she wasn’t happy with the farmers. (In fact, at one point when I walked past
her, she jumped up with a swift and aggressive side kick that fortunately
missed me by inches.)
We had to postpone the vaccination process while Mike
worked on the headgate. It had been
laying around for years, had a broken bolt, needed some WWD 40 and took some
time to get operational again. Despite all Mike’s efforts, it still wouldn’t
adjust the way it should have but was functional. Back in business, we started the vaccination
process again.
There’s an issue working with calm cattle. The headgate requires enough force from the
cow to cause the gate to close around their neck. This typically isn’t a problem with beef
cattle. They run into the chute, slam
their head into the gate and “wham” it closes around their neck. Most of my cows are too calm, even with
flowing adrenaline, and too use to their farmers to go slamming their heads
through the headgate with enough force to make it close. We would push them forward and when their
head was in the gate, I would have to force it close. Then, after the shot was administered, I
would reach up and pull down on the heavy lever, while simultaneously pushing
back on another lever to open the gate and allow them to walk through. Once the cow was through the gate, I would
push it back into position, setting it up for the next bovine. The next step
was to cut that cow off from entering the group that still needed to be
vaccinated and open the door to the barn to push them out with the group of previously
vaccinated animals. I would measure out
5 ccs of the vaccine into the syringe and have it read for Mike to grab, and
then we would round up the next animal and push them through the chute. (Oh, and when I say chute, we are not talking
about a commercial operation here. Our “chute”
is a gate hung from a beam creating an ally way for the cows to enter the
headgate.) Once we were able to utilize
the headgate properly, the process went without any real hitch. Even the bull was compliant and while his
neck was too big for the headgate, we squeezed him with the gate, and he stood
calmly while Mike stuck him. The first
group of one bull, seven cows, and two baby calves was finished.
Next, we brought in Grandma Cow and the two seven-month-old
calves. Princess walked right into the parlor
and to her favorite stanchion to get a treat and we vaccinated her there. The two calves were calm and easy and went
through the headgate with no problem.
The next step required moving the cattle from the Back
Forty down to the barn so that we could vaccinate them. They are a calm and easy group and typically
follow along willingly. We called them,
they grouped up, we pushed them through a gate and two additional lots to get
them down to the barn. One of the steers, going to the processor, put in the
field with Princess and the seven-month-old calves. We didn’t want to vaccinate him since he is
going to slaughter on Friday. That left
us with three steers, one old, retired cow (Patience), the younger bull, and
two bred heifers to vaccinate. The
renegade goat had to come along, not wanting to be left alone even for a minute
without her adopted family of bovines. The
goat provided most of the excitement for this group of cattle. They were all calm and went through the headgate
easy enough, even the young bull. The
goat jumped in the wooden hay rack and Mike thought she must have broken her
leg coming out, but she was fine. She’s
just crazy. Then she ran around bleating
and causing a lot of commotion. When one
of the heifers entered the head gate, the darn goat squeezed in from the other
side and wedged herself in beside the heifer’s head so that neither of them
could dislodge. Mike, who hates goats,
was saying some pretty radical things by this point and even I was thinking
about shipping her off to the stock yards, but she’s been around a long time
and when she followed the herd back to the pasture, I forgave her shenanigans.
Moving that group of cattle to the Back Forty once again took
a little more time than getting them down the hill. They stalled in a pasture that we had closed
off where the grass had been growing untouched.
Convincing them to move on took a little effort and coercion but we
managed and then took them to another, larger pasture that had been untouched
all winter. They were more than happy at
that point, munching on the green, spring grass and enjoying the warmer weather
after another weekend of cold, windy weather.
We had started milking at 8 am and moved directly into the
vaccination process. By the time we
finished, it was after 1 pm and we had not eaten since 5 pm the previous
day. I grabbed a quick shower and then
fixed our big meal of the day, which we try to eat typically around 11 am on a
normal day.
We survived another annual day of vaccinations, and both
agreed that all in all, it didn’t go too bad.
I did plant the seed that perhaps we should invest in a new, commercial chute
and a high functioning headgate and install it before we vaccinate next
year. I reminded Mike that we are both
getting older and while we still do it all ourselves, the proper equipment sure
would be nice and might decrease the amount of barnyard cussing during vaccinations. However, I fully expect we will still be “making
do” this time next year because it’s just our way.