Despite my high hopes, positive attitude, and the care and patience of everyone on the farm, Opal will not recover. The vet is coming to put her down today. Opal hasn’t stood up in more than two weeks. I have spent the last week watching her appetite, her weight, and her spirit, dwindle. I have seen that the look in her eyes has changed from confusion and determination, to acceptance and the distance that comes when a living being is ready to leave the world.
It was my decision. Essentially, I’ve signed her death warrant. There is no easy decision here for me. I don’t like to give up on things. Even when all the potential is gone, I still search for one tiny little spark, some indicator that there is still hope. But to wait for every last spark to fade from this girl would be cruel. I have made the right decision. Her life will end before another week goes by, before she wastes away to nothing. My decision will give her peace.
I told her twin sister, Onyx, a couple of days ago. I apologized for lying to her. I had assured her Opal would be back. At the time, I believed that! I’m sure some will read this and think I am nuts. They’re just cows, Onyx doesn’t understand or care. But cows are also herd animals. They are meant to live in groups. With the exception of the few months where one was dry and the other milking, Onyx and Opal have always been together. And Onyx knows the stall beside her is still empty.
During the morning shift that I worked when Opal was first injured, she had walked to the back end of the pasture during their outside time. It took me a while to get her back in; it was a long, slow walk back. Onyx, who I’ve been told is usually among the first to go back in the barn, waited for her sister to catch up to her before she went in that day. Onyx won’t dwell on this the way a human dwells on such a loss, but I feel she does understand, and feel the emptiness.
Though this is a sad day for me, there is happiness to be found. A young heifer of mine has been moved into the “pre-fresh” area of the barn. Pre-fresh is an free-stall area (cows are not tied, but can roam about within the confines of the space) of the farm where the cows that are within a month or so of calving are housed. In warm weather, once a cow is dried off, she is put out to pasture for a while, and then brought back in to pre-fresh. In the winter, they stay in the pre-fresh area the entire time they are dry.
Lolypop, Lilly’s two-year-old daughter, has been moved into pre-fresh. My son named her when HE was two years old! We try to keep all the cow’s names to seven letters or less, so we had to misspell it to make it fit.
Lolypop is also Opal’s niece, so though Opal has no daughters of her own to carry on her genes, she does have Lolypop and a couple other, younger nieces who will continue to move forward. Though I doubt it, I have to wonder if Lolypop will be the one to stand by Onyx and fill that empty stall. I would love that! However, they tend to be placed in their stalls for more functional reasons (such as their comfort level in a particular location and how they match up in size and appearance to their stall mates) than heredity or emotional ones.
It is hard to ignore the circle of life when working on or around a farm. You say goodbye to one, and another comes up and gives you something new to celebrate! It can be a very life-affirming thing. Life always goes on. Even when you don’t feel like stepping forward, life steps forward and carries you with it. Into the next chapter.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Mother's Daze
My kid’s bedrooms are disastrous. Sometimes, when my husband is working the afternoon shift, we eat cereal for dinner. My kids get a bath a couple times a week and unless they are covered in actual DIRT (or other farm-related matter), I think that is just fine. I’ve discontinued the endless stream of Laurie Berkner and Kindermusik in my car stereo and now my eight-year-old daughter knows all the words to pretty much every P!nk tune that ever made the Top 10, as well as Nickleback and a host of others whose lyrics I am fully aware are not always appropriate for the under ‘tween set.
Last night, my children left our yard and escaped to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. As I finished prepping their dinner, they were eating peach pie and chitchatting next door, and I had no idea they had left the yard. I told them to stay home twice before they actually made it all the way there, you can see how well they mind me!
I’ve screwed up the sex talk, forgotten to pack a toy for show and tell, forgotten it was library day, and allowed my children to trash the house making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so I could spend an extra long time in the shower. I demand they relinquish the television for half an hour every day so I can do yoga and I couldn’t care less if Team Uumizoomi (or however you spell it!) is on! It is time for you to find something else to do for 30 stinkin’ minutes, darlings.
And Sunday, my proud, excited little children will present me with gifts they have labored over in school to reward my exemplary behavior as their mother. Parenting magazines encourage us to spend the entire month of May celebrating our awesomeness! For real? I am far from awesome! There was a time when I might have considered myself somewhat the selfless, self-sacrificing hero mothers are extolled to be; but not lately!
There are days when the cows are MUCH more appealing to me than my own children! Cows don’t whine, complain or argue. You may get kicked or bunted; but that is (usually) a short-lived pain. Cows do not climb into bed with you and stick their feet in your ribs! Nor do they color on your cabinets or get blueberry stains on your throw pillows.
This is the mother my children are celebrating today. How lucky are they? I can only imagine the backlash that is coming when they are old enough to hold me up to their own personal parenting standards and detail every instance in which I failed to live up to the gold standard of motherhood.
My mother got that backlash from me. Before I had children, I examined my own childhood and shined a harsh light on every wretched and painful moment and vowed I would NEVER make the same mistakes! Huh! I’d be Mega Mom!
If she reflected on that phase of my life last evening, as my children sat at her counter, eating peach pie before dinner, I hope she laughed. At me. For a REALLY long time!
Because my mother wasn’t any more or less perfect than I. Her ways influenced mine. Hopefully, I don’t make the same mistakes she did. Unfortunately, there are plenty of other missteps and pitfalls to land in!
Now, I look back on my childhood and I am floored by some of her finer qualities that I only wish I had. Like her patience for a sick child. When my kids are sick, I get so frustrated! I want to be able to fix it fast and take their pain away (OK - and get back to bed!)! I get really tense when I can’t fix it and I feel like they are suffering as a result. Mom could be up all night (when I had the chickenpox, she was probably up for DAYS!), and her patience with us never waned. Puking, whining little kids never fazed her.
She taught me how to color, too. I remember her, on the floor of the living room, coloring with me. I told her I envied how neat her picture was and how she stayed in the lines. Mom was the one who taught me to outline the area I wanted to color and then fill it in.
Best of all, when my Mom laughs, you can’t help but laugh with her. There are times when we did things that would have made any other mother ready to sell us to the nearest bunch of gypsies. Our table manners were particularly lacking when humor was at stake… but Mom laughed so hard she cried. Her nose turned up a little more, her cheeks flushed and tears ran from her eyes just as fast as the laughter was bubbling from her throat.
My mom taught me what it is to be compassionate, thoughtful, helpful and patient. To find the joy when you really ought to be angry. I can’t say I do it the way she does; but I know it is possible. And there are days when I try to do this mother thing a little better, because I think she tried her best too.
What will my kids say about all of my failings? Maybe they will think our occasional Fruit Loops dinners were cool? When they look back on all of this, I hope the one thing they are doubtless about is my love for them. They drive me crazy sometimes! But when they say ‘I love you, Mom’ (especially after they have been REALLY naughty!); the quiet moments spent cuddling or reading stories; when we’re cheering each other’s fantastic stunts on the trampoline; when they’re running around the barn finding their own unique ways to enjoy the place I love so much; I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Not even the cows.
I don’t think I’ll spend an entire month celebrating how awesome I am. I think the best gift I can give myself is to spend one entire Sunday celebrating the woman who shaped the woman I am, and two kids who gave me the opportunity to try my hand at this permanent title. I am proud to be a daughter, and a mom! Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who share either occupation.
Last night, my children left our yard and escaped to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. As I finished prepping their dinner, they were eating peach pie and chitchatting next door, and I had no idea they had left the yard. I told them to stay home twice before they actually made it all the way there, you can see how well they mind me!
I’ve screwed up the sex talk, forgotten to pack a toy for show and tell, forgotten it was library day, and allowed my children to trash the house making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so I could spend an extra long time in the shower. I demand they relinquish the television for half an hour every day so I can do yoga and I couldn’t care less if Team Uumizoomi (or however you spell it!) is on! It is time for you to find something else to do for 30 stinkin’ minutes, darlings.
And Sunday, my proud, excited little children will present me with gifts they have labored over in school to reward my exemplary behavior as their mother. Parenting magazines encourage us to spend the entire month of May celebrating our awesomeness! For real? I am far from awesome! There was a time when I might have considered myself somewhat the selfless, self-sacrificing hero mothers are extolled to be; but not lately!
There are days when the cows are MUCH more appealing to me than my own children! Cows don’t whine, complain or argue. You may get kicked or bunted; but that is (usually) a short-lived pain. Cows do not climb into bed with you and stick their feet in your ribs! Nor do they color on your cabinets or get blueberry stains on your throw pillows.
This is the mother my children are celebrating today. How lucky are they? I can only imagine the backlash that is coming when they are old enough to hold me up to their own personal parenting standards and detail every instance in which I failed to live up to the gold standard of motherhood.
My mother got that backlash from me. Before I had children, I examined my own childhood and shined a harsh light on every wretched and painful moment and vowed I would NEVER make the same mistakes! Huh! I’d be Mega Mom!
If she reflected on that phase of my life last evening, as my children sat at her counter, eating peach pie before dinner, I hope she laughed. At me. For a REALLY long time!
Because my mother wasn’t any more or less perfect than I. Her ways influenced mine. Hopefully, I don’t make the same mistakes she did. Unfortunately, there are plenty of other missteps and pitfalls to land in!
Now, I look back on my childhood and I am floored by some of her finer qualities that I only wish I had. Like her patience for a sick child. When my kids are sick, I get so frustrated! I want to be able to fix it fast and take their pain away (OK - and get back to bed!)! I get really tense when I can’t fix it and I feel like they are suffering as a result. Mom could be up all night (when I had the chickenpox, she was probably up for DAYS!), and her patience with us never waned. Puking, whining little kids never fazed her.
She taught me how to color, too. I remember her, on the floor of the living room, coloring with me. I told her I envied how neat her picture was and how she stayed in the lines. Mom was the one who taught me to outline the area I wanted to color and then fill it in.
Best of all, when my Mom laughs, you can’t help but laugh with her. There are times when we did things that would have made any other mother ready to sell us to the nearest bunch of gypsies. Our table manners were particularly lacking when humor was at stake… but Mom laughed so hard she cried. Her nose turned up a little more, her cheeks flushed and tears ran from her eyes just as fast as the laughter was bubbling from her throat.
My mom taught me what it is to be compassionate, thoughtful, helpful and patient. To find the joy when you really ought to be angry. I can’t say I do it the way she does; but I know it is possible. And there are days when I try to do this mother thing a little better, because I think she tried her best too.
What will my kids say about all of my failings? Maybe they will think our occasional Fruit Loops dinners were cool? When they look back on all of this, I hope the one thing they are doubtless about is my love for them. They drive me crazy sometimes! But when they say ‘I love you, Mom’ (especially after they have been REALLY naughty!); the quiet moments spent cuddling or reading stories; when we’re cheering each other’s fantastic stunts on the trampoline; when they’re running around the barn finding their own unique ways to enjoy the place I love so much; I wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Not even the cows.
I don’t think I’ll spend an entire month celebrating how awesome I am. I think the best gift I can give myself is to spend one entire Sunday celebrating the woman who shaped the woman I am, and two kids who gave me the opportunity to try my hand at this permanent title. I am proud to be a daughter, and a mom! Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who share either occupation.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Zen Gardening
A warm, gusty breeze blows my hair wildly varied directions. My bare feet feel the soft earth beneath them. Warm sun on my skin as I fall into the gentle rhythm of my annual labor of love. Yes, this is one of the best times of year for me, without a doubt.
The beginning of my annual foray into vegetable gardening. I do not claim to be very good at this; but I do enjoy it immensely! My husband has tilled a huge garden for me, far bigger than I can keep up with! He uses a gas-powered tiller; I use the classic rake, hoe and shovel. I do not have much success with power equipment. The simple process of trying to pull start these items usually frustrates me to the point of exasperation. Then try to wield one as it rattles and vibrates your body into oblivion and the noise! UGH! You can’t expect to clear your mind over the din of a tiller.
I am even worse at field work at the farm. I haven't even attempted to help at that since I was a teenager! If you cannot back and tractor and manure spreader into the shed, don't even attempt to run anything else. I stick to the cows at the farm; but at home, I can pretend I am keeping up with the progress in the fields...
Zen gardening seems to be my thing. Spending endless hours raking rocks off the garden; my hands are well blistered before the first seed is ever sown! And yet, I find this gratifying. I have learned to put newspaper between the rows to help keep the weeds down, as I do not have the time or energy to keep up with their continual assault on my tender young plants. My rows are crooked and unevenly spaced. I will plant until it is too late in the season to plant more and I still will not make it to the end of the vast space allotted to this yearly endeavor! There will inevitably be an ugly corner of this garden that is completely overrun by weeds. Unsightly, to be sure!
But it will be fun.
My children will assist in the weeding and seeding of this plot for about five minutes every time I am out there. I do not make them help me. My garden is my happy place. If you cannot work happily in this space, you should not work there! If I am not happy working there, I stop for that day. For me, it is not about completing the task the fastest or growing the biggest or most plentiful foods (though I will say it is incredibly rewarding when that happens!). It is about getting out there and enjoying the process. Being outside, moving and making something that will benefit everyone in my home.
By summer, when the kids are snacking on snow peas and I am enjoying endless varieties of spinach salad, I will be completely immersed in my Zen state. No need to drive to the grocery store, just walk barefoot to the garden and choose your perfect snack or meal. Yup! This is bliss!
Now, where in the heck did I put the seeds?
The beginning of my annual foray into vegetable gardening. I do not claim to be very good at this; but I do enjoy it immensely! My husband has tilled a huge garden for me, far bigger than I can keep up with! He uses a gas-powered tiller; I use the classic rake, hoe and shovel. I do not have much success with power equipment. The simple process of trying to pull start these items usually frustrates me to the point of exasperation. Then try to wield one as it rattles and vibrates your body into oblivion and the noise! UGH! You can’t expect to clear your mind over the din of a tiller.
I am even worse at field work at the farm. I haven't even attempted to help at that since I was a teenager! If you cannot back and tractor and manure spreader into the shed, don't even attempt to run anything else. I stick to the cows at the farm; but at home, I can pretend I am keeping up with the progress in the fields...
Zen gardening seems to be my thing. Spending endless hours raking rocks off the garden; my hands are well blistered before the first seed is ever sown! And yet, I find this gratifying. I have learned to put newspaper between the rows to help keep the weeds down, as I do not have the time or energy to keep up with their continual assault on my tender young plants. My rows are crooked and unevenly spaced. I will plant until it is too late in the season to plant more and I still will not make it to the end of the vast space allotted to this yearly endeavor! There will inevitably be an ugly corner of this garden that is completely overrun by weeds. Unsightly, to be sure!
But it will be fun.
My children will assist in the weeding and seeding of this plot for about five minutes every time I am out there. I do not make them help me. My garden is my happy place. If you cannot work happily in this space, you should not work there! If I am not happy working there, I stop for that day. For me, it is not about completing the task the fastest or growing the biggest or most plentiful foods (though I will say it is incredibly rewarding when that happens!). It is about getting out there and enjoying the process. Being outside, moving and making something that will benefit everyone in my home.
By summer, when the kids are snacking on snow peas and I am enjoying endless varieties of spinach salad, I will be completely immersed in my Zen state. No need to drive to the grocery store, just walk barefoot to the garden and choose your perfect snack or meal. Yup! This is bliss!
Now, where in the heck did I put the seeds?
Saturday, May 1, 2010
The Danger in Safety
The grass is green and the kids are outside, merrily jumping on their trampoline. They are happy. I am gratified by the peace and space afforded me in them having taken their play outside. My husband is in the woods, it is the first day of turkey hunting season. Again, I say, I am grateful for the peace.
But I am also a little nervous, as I have been most every spring, summer, fall (OK and winter!) since becoming a mother. Warm weather means everyone is out doing all manner of different things, and there is danger in all of those things! Kids bounce off trampolines and land on their head, break an arm, you name it! Hunting accidents happen every year. Accidents can happen any time at the farm, but seems even more probable with kids and tractors constantly on the move. I see the kids running around and the worrywart in me can picture a million different, awful scenarios.
It’s not just bodily harm that causes my worry. Emotional safety is something I also think about. There is emotional safety in having the same roof over your head every night, the same people to come home to every day. Safety in having a steady job and a paycheck you can rely on. Daily routines are a comfort. These are all good things, I think.
Or, maybe they are not. Not always.
Safety can breed complacency. Being continually afraid to fall, may make you afraid to jump! The steady paycheck may make you afraid to step away from that miserable job you go to day after endless day, and halt your search for your true passion. If you are afraid of being shot, you may never set foot in the woods!
If you don’t venture out, take the risks, you miss out, and so do your kids. Because if they see you always playing it safe, aren’t they more likely to do the same? We joke about putting our kids in a bubble when we are worried about them. Wouldn’t it be nice to put them (and sometimes even ourselves!) in this protective little bubble and know they were safe no matter what? Nobody will call them names at school, they will never get their hearts (or arms!) broken, we can all just be safe and comfortable and happy.
Maybe not truly happy; but happy enough, right?
Not for long! Because safe is BORING!!!! If you are safe all the time, have you really lived? As far as we know, we get one go round on the big spinning ball. I’ve checked all my pockets and have yet to find my return ticket! When it is my turn to dash off into the great, wide open, I don’t won’t be satisfied to look back and realize I never got hurt. I want to know that I’ve LIVED! I’ve seen, felt, heard, tasted, smelled – EXPERIENCED – everything that I possibly could! It won’t always be safe, probably not even smart, but neither will it be boring!
If that is what I want for me, who am I to deny my family of that?
So, my kids are outside on the trampoline and gunshots are ringing out in the woods. And everything is fine. As long as there are helmets, seat belts and blaze orange hunting clothes, we don’t need to worry… too much…
But I am also a little nervous, as I have been most every spring, summer, fall (OK and winter!) since becoming a mother. Warm weather means everyone is out doing all manner of different things, and there is danger in all of those things! Kids bounce off trampolines and land on their head, break an arm, you name it! Hunting accidents happen every year. Accidents can happen any time at the farm, but seems even more probable with kids and tractors constantly on the move. I see the kids running around and the worrywart in me can picture a million different, awful scenarios.
It’s not just bodily harm that causes my worry. Emotional safety is something I also think about. There is emotional safety in having the same roof over your head every night, the same people to come home to every day. Safety in having a steady job and a paycheck you can rely on. Daily routines are a comfort. These are all good things, I think.
Or, maybe they are not. Not always.
Safety can breed complacency. Being continually afraid to fall, may make you afraid to jump! The steady paycheck may make you afraid to step away from that miserable job you go to day after endless day, and halt your search for your true passion. If you are afraid of being shot, you may never set foot in the woods!
If you don’t venture out, take the risks, you miss out, and so do your kids. Because if they see you always playing it safe, aren’t they more likely to do the same? We joke about putting our kids in a bubble when we are worried about them. Wouldn’t it be nice to put them (and sometimes even ourselves!) in this protective little bubble and know they were safe no matter what? Nobody will call them names at school, they will never get their hearts (or arms!) broken, we can all just be safe and comfortable and happy.
Maybe not truly happy; but happy enough, right?
Not for long! Because safe is BORING!!!! If you are safe all the time, have you really lived? As far as we know, we get one go round on the big spinning ball. I’ve checked all my pockets and have yet to find my return ticket! When it is my turn to dash off into the great, wide open, I don’t won’t be satisfied to look back and realize I never got hurt. I want to know that I’ve LIVED! I’ve seen, felt, heard, tasted, smelled – EXPERIENCED – everything that I possibly could! It won’t always be safe, probably not even smart, but neither will it be boring!
If that is what I want for me, who am I to deny my family of that?
So, my kids are outside on the trampoline and gunshots are ringing out in the woods. And everything is fine. As long as there are helmets, seat belts and blaze orange hunting clothes, we don’t need to worry… too much…
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