Lessons From Calving Season
Today, only a handful of horses graze in what used to be the “calving pasture.”
You haven’t really lived until you have been awakened by a newborn calf mooing from the hallway bathroom. When you are a ranchers’ daughter, it’s hard to know what creatures you may find in your own home, especially during calving season.
If you aren’t familiar with the process, calves are born wet, sticky, and gross, and that’s a bad thing in the winter weather of South Dakota. Calves can freeze into popsicles quickly in high winds, extreme cold, or blizzard conditions.
My mom relates stories of Dad showing up at the front door, out of breath from running up to the house with a new-born calf in his arms. They would work quickly to place the calf in the bathtub and run warm water, doing everything they could to help the calf survive its frosty beginnings. Most of the time their efforts paid off. My sister and I thought it was entertaining to use our hair dryer on the new calf’s fur before it went back outside.
My mom and dad both were on duty 24 hours a day, especially in March, April, and May. Daytime was all hands on deck. After our breakfast as a family, mornings would begin with checking on all the calves born overnight to make sure they were cleaned up and had eaten. This could take some time, depending on how many new calves there were and how difficult their mothers were being. Then all the cows had to be fed, which Mom and Dad did together every day. By early afternoon, they might be able to take a lunch break before the work started all over again.
Nighttime was not a time for rest. Dad would go to bed at about 8 p.m. after eating dinner with us and checking the cows one more time. Then Mom would go out about 10 p.m. to see what was going on. If a cow was calving, Mom would come back to the house and sleep in the chair for a bit, setting the timer on the microwave in the kitchen to wake her up. If she needed Dad’s help, she would flash the lights in the barn. It was my job to watch out the window for the signal, and then go wake up Dad. Teamwork at its finest.
In cold weather, one or the other would go out to check the cows at least every two hours. Dad was on the 2 a.m. shift. Mom would get back up at 5 a.m. By summer, my parents were deeply exhausted, usually bruised in a few places, and ready to join the land of the living again.
One of our favorite cows―named Pineapple because of her rich, yellowish-colored fur―was super laid back most of the year. We have photos of my dad feeding her by hand with his hat on her head. She was gentle and friendly, that is until she had her baby each year. Once her calf was on the ground, look out. She would place herself between her baby and every other living thing, and you better not get too close. She was a good momma.
We often would become attached to the calves who came into the world in unique ways, and my sister and I got to help bottle feed any calves that weren’t claimed by their mothers. One year, a cow had twins, cleaned them both up and let them both eat, but then clearly chose her favorite and abandoned the other. The one she chose was named Jacob, and the one we ended up having to bottle feed was named Esau.
Another cow had twins one year, a male and a female, but only claimed the male as her own. The female calf needed to be bottle fed and spent lots of time in the barn with us. We named her Rainbow, for some reason. Later that year, Rainbow’s brother, who was a runt and too small to sell in the fall, was put in the barn with her when the other calves went off to the sale. Rainbow ran from him and hid behind my dad. We are fairly certain she thought she was human.
One calf wasn’t breathing when he was born, and we thought he was dead for some time. But my mom and dad didn’t give up that easy. There wasn’t much they would not have done to save a calf’s life. It wasn’t unheard of for Dad to give a calf CPR and mouth-to-mouth. In this case, after several minutes and a lot of pounding on his chest, the calf finally took his first breath. We named him Lazarus.
My parents are mostly retired now. Today, only a handful of horses graze in what used to be the “calving pasture.” But I still remember watching the just-born calves try to stand up on their long, wobbly legs. They would slip and slide on their stilt-like limbs until they could hold their ground. The main goal was to eat their first real meal, and that required standing firmly on all four feet.
This month H Squared Communications celebrates our one-year anniversary. This past year has felt a little like giving birth, although I am not sure which part of the story I am exactly. Some days I have felt like the mother cow, doing everything possible to protect my baby. Other days I have felt like the wobbling calf still trying to get my legs under me. All along the way I have been so grateful for the humans who were there to assist and support.
I am thankful, too, that for 18 years I saw first-hand my mom and dad’s work ethic and persistence. This past year has been amazing but also the most uncomfortable 365 days of my life. Like my parents during calving season, I have seen every hour on the clock, worked very hard, and learned to flash the lights when I needed help. But I also have seen God show up in incredible ways and give me strength to stand on my own two feet.