It's Saturday morning. I am on 10 o'clock heifer check. I pull on long johns, extra layers, flannel shirt, silk scarf. An old felt hat, a gift from my sister many years ago. Grab the blanket from the stair rail in the porch: "It looks like rain," the Good Rancher had said as he went to bring in his horses.
I drive out, through the horse pasture, through the little gate into what he calls the Storm Field. It's a haven for calvy heifers and pet cows on days of inclement weather, such as this one.
It's mizzling and extremely windy. Even the crocuses are shuttered against the onslaught.
I circle the perimeter slowly, trying not to disturb these heavily pregnant mums.
Each is settled in her chosen spot.
They are all quiet.
At rest.
Waiting.
Tomorrow's the official day that new life will start to be seen, the GR says. It's the official heifer calving launch.
But it's the day before. All is quiet in this garden. All are at rest.
I back the side-by-side into an unobtrusive spot and let my mind drift back some 2,000 years ago to that "day before" where there was little to no activity on the streets of Jerusalem in honour of the Sabbath.
Rest day.
Waiting.
Tomorrow - little do they know - will be different from any other day anyone has ever known. A massive stone will be rolled from a brand new tomb. The broken body, placed in it so tenderly by friends just days before, will not be found in the cave.
Angels will attest.
The ladies will come. Peter and John will come. Friends walking to Emmaus in bewilderment and sorrow will speak to and break bread with Him.
Thank you for voting for my eagle family in the Calendar Contest! Click on the link above, scroll down past all the contest rules etc to below my eagle picture; click on the heart at the centre of the blue bar, and you've done it! Repeat every day until September 2, 2024 ...
🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🏠
Leave the field that the eagles call home and turn left onto the 855. Go up to the tower and turn left. Drive 20 kms on dusty gravel and turn left onto the 36. Head north for a few kms, past the burnout; and on your right you will see, about a quarter mile off the highway, a little white house with a red roof.
Only about 12 miles from the Good Rancher's place, as the eagle flies.
As you turn off the 36 onto the gravel something wonderful happens. A rainbow appears. Wait, a DOUBLE RAINBOW, arching gracefully over the house.
This house, this nest, that launched eight fledglings in their time:
Gordon
Mary
Allan
Clark
Margaret
Bruce
Mabel
Marilyn
This particular evening, the symbol of promise hovers over this place as my sister brings her son to see it, to see the nest that nurtured his family four generations ago.
The place where Ruth and Tiff brought their premature, sickly baby son after he was released from the Hanna hospital. Where Ruth prayed, "God, if you save my baby, I will give him back to you to serve you."
The place where she wept, 26 years later, after she had waved goodbye to him from the steps of their home and watched the car all the way up the dusty quarter mile until it vanished from her sight. Not once did she ask him not to go.
Her son Allan served God in India for over 40 years. Each time he returned to Canada for a brief period of home assignment, the first place he would go would be home.
He returned one time unexpectedly, shortly before she died. He came to tell her he loved her, to tell her thank you, Mom.
He had made his life on the other side of the world.
Two Fridays ago the Good Rancher moved his heifers to their calving field, aka the horse pasture, and the cows to the Hunt field.
Everything went smoothly.
Everything except, of course, for the antics of ringleader Nod.
Meet Nod.
Does she look like she
would be any trouble at all?!
The weather forecast was predicting rain and snow in a couple of days, so the Good Rancher was extremely thankful everybody could be settled with grass, water, and shelter as they prepared to have their babies.
As the guys did a quick check before lunch, they discovered these two wonderful mothers, who made it look so easy ...
The Mohn girls led the way,
right before the move -
two beautiful calves, no problem!
After lunch the men saddled their horses and they were off. They kept the two mothers and tiny babies back to cause them less stress and fatigue, then they moved the rest of the heifer herd up the fields and across the driveway to the horse pasture gate.
(Included in this herd are bottle calf alumnae Amy and Hanna, Diamond K, Angel, Venus and Serena, Redder, Marta and Gretyl, plus the seven Mohn cows the GR was fortunate enough to purchase at their sale. All these girls might be on their fourth or fifth calf, but they'll always be heifers to me!)
I gathered the five dogs, acknowledging two things: the piercing absence of ScoutyLove; and that my little Earl Grey with his sightless eyes was not so out of place with the other dogs when they were together out here. He couldn't jump on and off the side-by-side to chase cows; but he could feel the air swirling around him and he could hear the cattle thunder by and smell the first hints of spring. And he always loves riding in the side-by-side!
First the heifer group was moved. All seemed to go swimmingly - but I couldn't see Nod anywhere. Nod is Mabel the Holstein's daughter. The freemartin triplet identifies as a heifer and so the GR goodnaturedly lets her stay with the heifers each year. Her brothers, Wynken and Blynken, are in the bull program ...
A shout from Kurt: there was an unusually big cow leading a pack of heifers back to the field they had been in through the winter. The GR rolled his eyes and pointed his horse back in the direction from which they had just come.
"Tell me again why we keep her?" the GR sighed. "Remember Scout's last cattle round-up? Nod led her group over to near Lee Hunt's place and Scouty gathered them all up and brought them home."
I was shocked, shocked. "All the heifers know she's in the Bible!" I said. " 'Lead us, Nod, into temptation!' Of course she has to stay!"
The rebel heifers now safely in the horse pasture, the men turned their attention to the batch of cows they would guide into the Hunt field.
When I first moved to the GR's ranch and I heard talk of "the Hunt field," this is literally what I pictured:
The reality was that the GR and his Deb had purchased this piece of land from their previous employers the Hunts. They named it The Hunt Field, of course. And each Spring the matrons of the herd head as a matter of course to their favourite grove of trees, their choice watering holes, in this incredible pasture area.
As the men rounded up and sorted the cattle, I had a chance to look around to try and discover any signs that Spring was indeed approaching.
There were at least a couple:
The cows - most of whom had been born either in the horse pasture or the Hunt field - made their unhesitating way back home.
"Straight up the hill,turn leftat
the gate. You can't miss it.Don't
mind the dogs - they're harmless."
Right before evening chores the GR took me on a tour of the Hunt field to make sure everyone was comfortable.
It was more beautiful than I had anticipated.
The most amazing part of all was to see these dugouts - full of clean, cool water!
Every cow looked settled and content. The GR turned the side-by-side toward home.
One last dash through the horse pasture and the storm field to check on the hefs. The first mother to calve here this season belonged to the Mohn group of cows. She had not quite finished licking off her calf, but he was already on his feet looking for food.
The next morning the wind was vindictive and the GR was so thankful we had moved the mothers to their birthing fields.
The dogs pouted in the porch, unwilling to be outside but ticked right off that the GR took only Earl Grey with him this morning.
I was ticked off that I had to go check on the heifers in this bluster.
Still, once I was out there I spotted almost immediately the cow-calf pair from the evening before.
As I drove through the open gateway between the horse pasture and the storm field, that baby bull pushed his way through the fence to see what the weird sound was.
I turned off the side-by-side's engine. The calf - not even 24 hours old - did a little four-step of joy, then he turned around and bounded back to his mummy.
The wind died down for a couple of minutes and I could hear that beautiful song of a mother lowing lovingly to her calf. And I was reminded that it is indeed the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!
