Recalling adventures in livestock and the kindness of strangers

Growing up on a dairy farm brings a wide variety of experiences. I realize there is one particular part of our farm family life I’ve not put down on paper.

The farm that housed our Holstein herd and provided the cows a sprawling pasture was highly visible from two fairly well-traveled roads, even in the lighter daily traffic of the 1960s and ‘70s. Our cows had access to plenty of grass and water while enjoying sunshine and abundant room to roam. Though it was no one’s favorite job, we did fence checks often to keep our herd secure.

What we never counted on was the number of people, total strangers, who would stop by to share an observation. One day, while sitting down for lunch, a frantic woman came knocking at our door. “I was told you own the cows up there …” she said while pointing with great agitation. “I pulled over when I saw something that doesn’t seem right,” she said.

Dad calmly thanked her for stopping and asked what was wrong. “All of the other cows are standing up, eating grass, but there is one that is lying down near this road right here in an odd position. I pulled over and even yelled for it, but it is still down!”

Dad accompanied her, the rest of us exchanging glances. “Bet it’s old Linda,” my sister said. “Anybody wanna bet against it?” We each put a dime into a kitty.

Not 10 minutes later, Dad was back. “Nice lady from Cleveland, and it was good of her to be concerned. But it was just good old Linda cow, reminding me she needs her hooves trimmed,” he said. My sister Sher scooped up four dimes.

Another time a woman saw us out near the machinery shed and stopped to say she saw something awful. “It looks like sticks poking out of one of your cows!”

I hopped in the truck with Dad, after grabbing baler twine from the barn, and I helped deliver a calf in the far pasture. And, of course, it was the far pasture. Cows rarely make the job of carrying a newborn calf to the barn an easy one.

There were friendships struck with interested passersby who cared enough to stop, and because it was a different time, my parents even invited total strangers in for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie, “and how about a scoop of homemade ice cream with that? We just made some last night!” my mom might say. And the coffee refills kept flowing.

I was in high school when one petite, friendly woman asked if she could stay to watch the birth of a calf after spotting a cow in labor.

“I’m a nurse, and I’ve helped deliver human babies, but I’ve never watched labor and delivery of a cow and her calf,” I remember her saying. She was welcomed to hop in the truck with Dad and me. She stood transfixed by the birth which went off without assistance, but she couldn’t resist clearing the calf’s nostrils immediately with her cupped hands.

When we returned to the house, Dad directed her toward the sink to wash up and signaled to our mother when he noticed tears were falling. “Are you OK?” Mom asked, handing her a tissue.

“Yes, I am just touched by this … this life, I guess … by what kind people you are.” Her words stayed with me, bouncing about in my head and my heart all these years.