Weaning the Calves

I had my last day at work on Friday--it seemed fitting the day ended with no power (construction hit our main power line). After work I went on what will probably be my last trail ride at Jester Park. On Saturday Scarlett and Brian met me for lunch and the evening brought a going away party with 15 to 20 of my good friends showing up to have one last hurrah. We started at Kari's and then watched Mike's band play downtown at the House of Bricks. Then on to High Life Lounge and straight on to bed. I was beat by the end of the night, but it was fun. Great to see everyone. Yesterday I came home to Northwood and the whole family (which, for my small family, was 16 people) came over for supper. It was great. And now, two whole days sitting here on the farm...

Yesterday as I was driving home, I called a friend originally from Iowa that is in her second year at Harvard Medical School. We both talked about how we missed the farm, missed seeing the stars at night, missed passing a tractor on a lonely gravel road. The air is fresher here, the sky bigger, the people friendlier. As soon as I pulled up yesterday Dad asked me if I would help him catch the calves at the pasture to bring them home. I slapped on my chore clothes and hopped in the truck. The cows were feeling extra-fine and were running everywhere--I had to run as fast as I could to cut them off (I surprised myself I was moving so quickly, especially considering the night before). If you've never chased livestock before you can't appreciate the quick movements and thinking ahead that it takes to get them where you want. It had been so long, I was surprised I could still keep them together. I took off my socks and shoes to wade through the creek in the pasture, rode the 4-wheeler, "bonded" with my dad and uncle. The end result: 13 calves being taken from their mothers to the homestead.

And they cried all night, though a little less this morning. By next week, they'll be fine and on their merry little way getting fat and growing. It made me think this morning about myself: soon-to-be plucked from my familiar settings and left at a new place that I will learn to call home. Surviving on my own with the other plucked ones around me. If the baby calves can make it, so can I.

I have 2 days here to breathe the air, ride my horse bareback, and walk barefoot through creeks. Shennen, this is how we remember it. This is what we miss. The people, the places. The way they make us feel. We may get weaned, but we'll never forget the feeling of running through the pasture away from conformity.