Sunday, June 27, 2010

The Night of the Living Cows

A weariness has overtaken me. Not enough sleep is part of it. Taking on a false sense of responsibility is the other. The neighboring farmer has a cow that bellered about every three minutes all night. I thought perhaps I'd left the garden gate open and one had entered and could not find her way out. I finally went out at 1:30 in the morning, to see if she was in distress and if I could do something to help. I saw nothing in the garden and realized the sound was further away, closer to the neighbor's farm than I first calculated.
I thought about a night long ago, when JB and I were visiting country cemeteries, wanting to check out just one more before dark. We turned into a winding little road that took us past a small herd of cows, silhouetted against the growing dusk. An old Gary Larson cartoon came to mind and I dubbed our adventure, "The Night of the Living Cows."  Silliness was running rampant, maybe as a way to stave off cemetery jitters at that late hour. Sort of like whistling past the graveyard. We found it, set amongst some pines, and spent a few minutes looking at headstones, then left, just as darkness settled in.
This morning, I returned to the house, reluctantly, as I knew the situation was not resolved, but eventually fell back to fitful sleep, around 4:00, just as morning was not-so-quietly breaking.
I got up again around 6:30, brewed coffee and sat with anxiety, trying to come to terms with my inability to resolve the cow problem, realizing I could not accept responsibility for the neighbor's cows, but also being very aware, that if I didn't, in these circumstances, who would?  Were they out of town, cows unattended?  Was she concerned about her calf and needing assistance?  Why was I shouldering a burden that wasn't mine?  I was hoping an answer would reveal itself to me, so that, in the future, I would have clearer direction at hand.
It rained fairly heavily for about a half hour and then, at 8:30, I went out again and weeded the far perennial bed devoted to irises that had already bloomed earlier this summer. There are a few strays of other varieties that have created a smattering of color, but I had let this go, not being a priority. I thought it would be good to give the late bloomers some room to show off.

As I weeded, I questioned my sanity and thought about the biblical story of Cain and Abel. Cain kills his brother, Abel, over some petty jealousy concerning Abel's more fruitful offering. For punishment, Cain was relegated to tilling the soil from whence he came and we, so the story goes, are still paying the price. Or something like that. Anyway, that's where the questioning my sanity came in. As I questioned and weeded, a funny thing began to happen. I noticed how nice the bed was looking, how quickly it was returning to a weed-free state. How I was going to need the wheelbarrow to haul away the weeds. I decided I wasn't crazy after all, at least in that respect, finished my little project and walked back to the house in a happy state of accomplishment.

The cow stopped bellering, the sun started to peek through the clouds, then came out in full array. I think there's a terrible pun there, completely unintended.
Anyway, I took the rest of the day off.

This afternoon, out of curiosity, I googled bellering and found a site devoted to it, really, a forum in which farmers noted that last year, at least, cows were doing some excessive and overly loud bellering, mostly at their new calves. That answered my question. I think. So, what's up with the cow anxiety?  What do they know, that they aren't telling us?





17 comments:

  1. It's a culture change, I'm guessing. You're experienced with land and planting, but not so much with cows. Anything new, to me, is either charming or scary. I'll bet by next year you don't even notice the cow making its noises.

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  2. I'm a city girl, so I completely understand. BF has cattle and I tend to worry, name, dote and imagine all sorts of things. And just wait till they start the weaning season... Like Linda said, by next year you won't even notice. I'll be weeding in my yard this week, so I'll be thinking of you and sending good thoughts...xoxox

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  3. Ooh...forgot to mention, I'm really, really proud of you. What you're doing is really cool and exciting!

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  4. My early years were spent on a small farm, with cows and other animals. Some of my early posts talk about growing up there. I'm sure I heard it back in Ansel, where I lived in the '90's, at my farmhouse there. I was surrounded by grazing cattle. This felt different, more "emotional," somehow, like she was really letting us know something wasn't right...All quiet, so far, tonight. :)

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  5. And, maybe I was just projecting... :)

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  6. Know exactly how you feel. Pulling weeds or tending to a physical task gets me out of a funk and I do have them, big-time. I looked at the corral the other day and thought, what a mess. It needs cleaning, it needs erosion work, it needs this, it needs that. God, I'm too old to be thinking like this! So, I grabbed the brush and groomed Lilly, then Star, then I forgot all about it.

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  7. Jack; Mom always said, "Busy people are happy people." Irritated the hell out of me when I was younger, now I know what she meant. And how.

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  8. It is so frustating if something like this happens and you feel you have to do something. A cow was bellering (belling?) at a field to a calf in the next field. The calf was not alone in the field, but the mother was. I was sure it must be her calf. And the calf cried and looked at the mum. A heartbreaking concert sounded in the river valley that day. Maybe the calf had to be weaned off? Or had the mother been "violent" to her young one?

    I love your story and the therapy. Time flies when you're busy, and hopefully the problem has solved itself afterwards!

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  9. Thyra (or is it Grethe?): I love your explanation, and a very plausible one it is. Word choices: I decided to use bellering, the term I grew up with, a colloquial version of bellowing. It seemed to fit. All is quiet now. Except for the birds. A well-tuned symphony. Thank you for "visiting," and sharing your thoughts.

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  10. Hej! I'm Grethe!
    Thyra was the first name of my first blog in 2005 and I'm very confused now because I have got two names!! *_*
    Cheers
    Grethe

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  11. Grethe! Thank you for clarifying. They are both lovely names : )

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  12. Thats the beauty of the net. You just do a search job, and hey presto, there is so much information. There will be fan clubs, dedicated workers, everything.

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  13. Haddock! Thanks for visiting! Love that Jive!

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  14. I have been there. When we were housesitting with those sheep on Bainbridge Island I was a wreck thinking that EweDora was neglecting her lamb. I had mega anxiety over that. I'd have fretted over the bellering, too.

    Totally off subject but I LOVE that photo "Preparing for 2012"!!!!!

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  15. Thank you, Cheryl! I recall your housesitting gig and some of the concerns you had there...

    Re: "Preparing for 2012...I couldn't resist it...

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  16. I shudder to think that cows are becoming more conscious, like the rest of us... It was the sight of the cavorting and frolicking calves in the fields, playing games just like the children of any other species, that put me on my course toward vegetarianism. My heart nearly exploded at the visual of this game of tag, with mommy's watching nearby. And then the beauty of the moment was shattered when I realized how little this baby's life was valued and what his or her fate would be. Makes me shudder all over again...

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  17. I believe everything is connected, and so everything is part of Consciousness. We would all tread a bit more lightly, on every level, if we truly understood that.

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