After a day in the barn stall Moo was ready to be let OUT. I led her out and then shoo'd Sparky along where she followed Moo right back into the coop. We're not sure Moo even came out of the coop yesterday except for a drink as I filled her water bucket. Since the flies are out in force I wanted to get her sprayed today and called her out so I could get some fly spray on her. Then I went in and led Sparky out. Once outside Sparky took off running with Jack close behind. She fell into every tree, tripped over a chicken, and ran smack into every fence while mama ate her grain and watched. After a few minutes Moo decided enough was enough and got between Jack and Sparky. Jack tasted defeat and headed to the patio - we felt sorry for him so we let the goats out and he started butting heads with Spot then ran off for a game of chase. Sparky continued to run, kick, and inspect every crevice of every thing with Moo slowly following behind her. Moo just looks positively svelte in her postpartum state.

I didn't post details of the other afternoon because.... well several reasons. Mostly I feel so inadequate and clueless around the farm that I'm sure most people get quite a chuckle at my mishaps. My biggest fear is that I will screw up big. Big. And end up damaging an animal. Goats are one thing, but caring for other people's horses and getting into cattle is just a whole other world and one I freely admit knowing nothing about. When I realized Sparky hadn't nursed I started calling around for advice. The vet told me to just milk Moo and feed the calf, online articles stated getting colostrum in her was most important even if it meant using a tube, and Ed said one way or another I had to get something in her tummy before we lost her.

When I went in the coop to check them, they were at opposite ends and Moo had quit calling to her at all. Sparky was just laying limp and showed no energy whatsoever. I ran to town for colostrum and a bottle which I figured Sparky would run up to me and eagerly devour in no time then we could deal with getting the nursing thing figured out. Wrong. I guess it's fairly common that some calves just don't know how or won't nurse which leaves the owner with two choices, let it die or intervene. When Sparky refused to take the nipple I worked with her for nearly an hour before I realized it was probably futile -- I'd gotten maybe a tablespoon in her. So I called Ed and told him this may be a lost cause. Ed always makes everything sound so simple, "No, you can't give up. One way or another you've got to get that bottle into her or get her nursing." I tried to explain that this tiny little calf weighs about 60-70 lbs and can nearly swing her head in a full circle a la Linda Blair to get away from me. Feeding the calf was not that simple. I think I kept hoping he would just take the afternoon off to come home and deal with this. Not so much.

Ed decided to put the situation into terms I'd understand. "Lisa, that calf is potentially worth $30,000 or more to us. I don't care what you have to do, you get some nutrition in her. Tie her up, sit on the floor and have the boys hold her hooves, feed her with a syringe squirting in her mouth, or whatever but you feed that calf." He was right. You hope to get 10 calves or more from a heifer so each one of her calves will be $3,000 worth of meat in the freezer as steers, or even more is she has a breeding heifer. Those terms, I could understand. This calf was getting fed.

The coop wasn't comfortable and stunk so I figured I'd get her in the barn. I can load, unload, move, and carry 50 lb bags of grain like nobody's business. It's nothing for me to manage 500 lbs. before lunch but let me tell you, a 70 lb. squirming calf without handles is not that easy to carry! I did get them into the barn and after about 30 minutes I had about half the bottle into her before she actually started looking for it and taking it on her own. So then I led her to Moo and squirted Moo's udder. That's when I realized Moo was kicking her and backing out of reach. Sparky gave up and came back to the bottle. Great. Solve one problem and then you get another! So I backed Moo into the corner and hollered for the boys to get me a bucket of grain with armfuls of hay to get Moo standing still. Finally, after several tries and yelps from Moo she stood still and let Sparky nurse. Once she got a taste from mama, there was no stopping her.

At this point I was an hour late with lunch for the horses, the 60 mph wind gusts had put an inch of dirt (not dust, I'm talking dirt) over every surface of my house, nothing was set out for dinner, breakfast dishes were still on the table, my body was about to give out from exhaustion, and I was covered in, well you can imagine. I called Ed to tell him the good news and then mention that not a single thing had gotten done and he came through as usual. "The calf is nursing Lisa. Right now, that's all that matters. Rest, have a coke, and I'll bring home pizza then help you with the evening horse feeding." How on earth did I luck out and find this man?

Later that night I was feeling quite proud of myself and he asked me why I never seemed to have more confidence around the farm. I really don't have an answer. I feel utterly useless most of the time and I'm not really sure why.

He talked with a guy at work who had run cattle with his stepfather while growing up and he said this is why so many people just hate having livestock. I can imagine. The idea of venturing out during calving season with 100 head or more and dealing with having to rope the calves while an angry mama, or bull, stood watching would squash all the fun right out of it. I can't imagine a farm wife back in the day hauling water to the house, cooking for who knows how many hands, and dealing with the issues around the farm while her husband worked in the fields all day. No wonder all the old timers I talked to always mention how hard farm life is. I'm beginning to get a small taste of it. We have nothing, nothing near the operation of what some folks had but I know what "too tired to sleep" means. There's been so many times that I'm scared to stop moving or sit down because I know I'll just fall asleep I'm so tired. I'm starting to understand that knowing look that country folks give city people when they talk about moving to the country with a far-away look of romance on their face. I was one. I figured it was all flowery meadows, playful livestock that all got along, sweet moments of birth that either went off without a hitch or Ed would deal with then fill me in later, and lush landscaping throughout the property. I'd be in the adorable old farmhouse baking bread while Ed tended the animals and came home to an, as usual, pristine home.

A couple years later I realize how silly that vision was. Animals fight, often to the death. Predators leave nasty presents for me often. We have much better luck growing weeds and the one time we tried to plant anything else I rode on the back of an open tractor for two full days getting so bruised I expected the domestic violence officer to show up any moment from someone thinking the worst. The wind is so powerful that it completely destroys any and all hope of maintaining a clean home -- even Ed acknowledges this. There are 20 acres of mud out here and every drop tries to find a way into my home on a daily basis. It usually wins. Chickens will clean up waste and keep the bugs down but you can forget gardening or landscaping the house. And don't even get me started on what goats can to to fences. You can have a business plan that depends on hay running $35/bale and within a year the drought drives the cost up to $100/bale leaving you rethinking the whole thing. And never in my life did I figure my day wouldn't be determined by my planner and sense of priorities but rather the weather and temperments of livestock.

Living in the country is hard. I mean hard. You can't explain it, you really can't. I think it's impossible to formulate into a logical reason other than simply, it's freaking hard.

But you know what? I feel more a member of the "community" that I ever have in my life. When I started calling the neighbors for calf advice the instant the women realized the situation they started offering their husbands cell phone numbers and said if I couldn't get it solved they'd send someone over. A friend was emailing and calling after checking with all the folks she worked with and offering lots of good advice - heck one of the guys even took a phone call from me because "just milk the cow" sounds good but I've never done it and the cow was kicking which means she didn't want me touching her there. He talked me through it and I actually did milk Moo just a bit this morning to make sure I could. And we have met people that truly understand the meaning of "help your neighbor" There's not a doubt in my mind that should something happen to Ed and a call went out I'd lose count of the number of people who would show up here to get me through a spell.

I don't think I could ever live in town again. And now it's me who's starting to give folks that knowing look when they talk about moving to the country. I used to be insulted by that look but I damn sure understand it better now.