It only seems right during these days of the Covid-19 pandemic that some of the "patients" were outfitted with "masks" during three days of annual check-ups on the County
Line.
I guess in this case it's OK to lick your nose ... as long as your "hands" stay away from your mouth and eyes.
We practiced our version of social distancing.
Pandemic or not, springtime means it's time to "work" baby calves.
That may sound like we're sending them off to collect a paycheck. But it really means that we are doing the work by sorting, hauling and doctoring the baby calves.
When Jill and Brent were infants, I took them to well-child checks at
the pediatrician. They were different than the last-minute appointments
we made for ear infections and other ailments. Well-child checks were
designed for the pediatrician to evaluate their health status and give
any recommended vaccinations.
Our baby calves undergo a similar process each spring. For this appointment, Randy fulfills the role of "physician's assistant." He certainly doesn't have the education of a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine. We do use a veterinarian for many of our cattle herd's health needs, and we ordered the medication from our vet, Dr. Bruce. But this is a task that Randy does, with help from me and, this year, a neighbor.
The process starts by gathering the mama cows and the calves. The method varies, depending on the location. To work the calves at Peace Creek, we use 4-wheelers to drive the cows and calves a half mile to the corrals and working chute.
But, for the other three locations, we gather the cows and calves into a corral and then sort the babies from the mamas. As I've said before, I skip trying to photograph the sorting process. I need my hands free while trying to send mamas back to the corral and keep the babies from following along.
At those other location, we haul the babies by trailer to the working chute, leaving the mamas behind.
The babies seem more curious about me than concerned about the fact they are separated from their personal milk machines. The mamas end up with that "first-day-of-kindergarten" feeling being separated from their babies. See them all lined up along the fence?
But, just like at the end of the kindergarten session for we human Mommies, the babies will be back with their mamas soon enough - right after their "doctor's appointments."
The babies go, one at at time, down a lane and into a calf cradle - a miniature squeeze chute.
I didn't get a photo of calves in the squeeze chute this year. The first order of business is giving each calf a number tag and notch in its left ear.
This year, the numbers all start with "0" to indicate the baby was born during the 202"0" calving season. Then the baby calf and his friends got Tic-Tac-sized growth implants in their ears. The hormone stimulates the pituitary gland and helps the calf grow. The $1 implant will bring a $3 return. Randy believes it's a matter of using the technology available to more efficiently grow food for consumers. And, yes, we eat the meat that we produce here on the farm and share it with our children and grandchildren.
We give each calf two injections. One is an immunization to prevent blackleg. The other prevents viral diseases in cattle. People often question the reasons for giving immunizations to animals that will eventually enter the food chain. But these injections are like giving immunizations to our own children. It helps keep the calves healthy, and healthy cattle provide a good source of protein in the human diet.
The bull calves also become steers during their time in the chute. Afterwards, we haul them back to their mothers. For the Peace Creek group, we loaded up the calves in the trailer and the mamas follow along behind.
Then they are reunited.
Other pairs are grazing on a small lot of wheat. I think they look so pretty against the green.
Others are back in pastures.
The pairs will hang out together until later this spring when we haul them all to their summer vacation spots. We only have a few stragglers left to calve.
This is part of a Stafford effort to #ShareHope during Holy Week. This is my offering of Pie Jesu. The translation for the Latin is: "Merciful Jesus Lord, grant us rest. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world."
In our public personas, we often wear masks. Unlike the masks that are becoming part of the national news as Americans battle Covid-19, these masks are invisible. But they, too, filter out bits of our life.
We're asked, "How are you?"
And we say, "Fine."
And even if we're the one asking, deep down, we may hope the response from the other person will be "Fine."
It's less messy that way.
In the last week or so, I've admitted to a few friends that I have moments of struggle during this unsettling time. And every single one of them has said, "I'm so glad you said that. I feel that way, too."'
The ripples from this world pandemic even reach to remote locations like The County Line. I know I am blessed beyond measure. Even if I weren't able to go to the grocery store, we could survive a long time, using up pantry and freezer items. Eventually, we might miss fresh veggies and fruits, but we'd be fine.
As farmers, our job is deemed essential. In reality, much of our daily routine hasn't changed. My kids have all kept their jobs and are working from home. They are facing different challenges, trying to combine full-time jobs with keeping an 8-year-old and 5-year-old focused on at-home learning. My immediate and extended family are well.
I have an internet connection - though I'd certainly like it to be faster. My cell phone works - at least most of the time.
And though I can get along fine in a group setting, I am an introvert at heart. In these days of limited human contact, that character trait can be a blessing, too. I'm sure these restrictions are much harder on extroverts who thrive on socialization.
However, as an empath, I have decided to limit my news watching. One sister would tell you that even "Little House on the Prairie" could have me in tears back in the day. OK, if I'm really honest, there are commercials that can accomplish that. So watching real life suffering is overwhelming. It's better for my mental health to distance myself from the avalanche of sad images.
Since that's my "normal" setting, this Covid-19 crisis can be crushing. I can only take small doses. But I've found that nature can be an antidote for those moments.
Last Sunday was like that. Even though we joined our church via Facebook Live, I missed the face-to-face interaction. We Zoomed with Jill's family and Brent. But when we disconnected from the video and audio feed, I felt the weight of that disconnection in my bones.
Later, we watched the ACM's "Our Country" special. As always, music causes emotions to bubble to the surface for me. It was time for a change of scenery. Thankfully, as I looked out the front door, I decided a sunset excursion was just what I needed. Randy suggested driving into the Peace Creek pasture.
As we bumped our way toward the creek, I was hoping the old pickup wouldn't rattle apart. Why not add another worry to the list, right? But the shake, rattle and roll was worth it when we got to the water and looked to the western sky.
Yes, those images of hospital tents are real.
The convention centers transformed into triage units are real.
Families interacting with the sick and lonely through a pane of glass are real.
Our Easter celebrations won't happen with our kids or church family. That is reality, too.
But so is the beauty of God's world. And when the "realness" of this situation overcomes us, it's probably time to take a breath and look Up .... for more reasons than the scenery.
The Stafford community was supposed to have Holy Week services this week. Through the efforts of my friend, Linda Hiebert, a series of #ShareHope specials have been launched. I've linked them to our church's Facebook page, Stafford First United Methodist Church, and to my own Facebook page (Kim Moore Fritzemeier) so you can find them there. (Send me a friend request on Facebook. I'll be your friend.) I've linked one to this post to whet your appetite.
Give them a listen. I will share a song, illustrated with my photography, in Holy Saturday's installment. Check back with me then.
I am leaving you with a gift--peace of mind and heart.
And the peace I give isn't like the peace the world gives.
So don't be troubled or afraid.
-- John 14:27
A Time to Think
Flowers grow out of dark moments.
–Sister Mary Corita Kent, artist and educator
A Time to Act
Change your thoughts and change your life.
A Time to Pray
Dear God, help me always to see beyond my fears to the beauty of Your creation.
The words in blue are from my daily Guideposts email devotional, with my photos added.
Here are the other links: https://youtu.be/ssmi9aVKA9k - Pianist Denise McNickle Bullock plays her own mashup of "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" and "Lean On Me."
https://youtu.be/2IpsVtI6dTs - Singer Janet Hardin accompanied by Linda Hiebert sings "He Is Faithful."
https://youtu.be/Rz7Pz6YihrM - Judy Mays tells the story of "It Is Well With My Soul," accompanied by Linda.
https://youtu.be/mXnU2OxO3Xg - Shelly Berens accompanied by Linda sings "My Tribute."
Randy started planting a garden last week. I was in the midst of a group text with our daughter, son-in-law and his parents, so I sent a couple of photos of Randy using his new toy - a rototiller left behind by our last hired man.
Alan - Eric's dad - quipped, "Is he planting his Victory Garden?"
I told him that it appeared he was planning to stockpile vegetables to combat Covid-19 with enough seed potatoes and onion sets to feed us and our neighbors, too.
But Alan's tongue-in-cheek response made me remember a Victory Cookbook I had retrieved when I helped my mom clean out my Grandma Neelly's kitchen cabinets.
The falling-apart cookbook was titled Victory Cookbook. I stored it in a plastic bag because it's so fragile. But I dug it out from the back of my cookbook stash again. It was dated 1942 and was compiled by the Ladies of the W.S.C.S. of the
Byers Methodist Church. (Women's Society of Christian Service was the
precursor to today's United Methodist Women.) As I looked through the
cookbook, I found recipes from both my grandmothers, as well as
childhood neighbors.
The
cookbook was produced during World War II. Children collected scrap
metal. Families did without sugar and other staples. Women in some parts
of the country had to go to work in factories and other jobs outside
the home to fill the void left by men who were serving overseas.
In Victory Hints, found at the front of the cookbook, it says, in part:
Victory
is more than just another word. It is a challenge to the ingenuity of
womanhood. Victory means taking care of and making the most of what we
have. It means saving time and strength as well as material things.
(I love the divider pages in the cookbook.)
I saw the Vegetables divider, and it looked like a simplified version of World War II posters promoting the Victory Garden plan.
Photos from Wikipedia
According to Wikipedia, Victory gardens, also called war gardens or food gardens for defense, were vegetable, fruit, and herb gardens planted at private residences and public parks in the U.S., United Kingdom, Canada, Australia and Germany during World War I and II. In war time, governments encouraged people to plant victory gardens
not only to supplement their rations but also to boost morale. George Washington Carver wrote an agricultural tract and promoted the idea of what he called a "Victory Garden." They were used along with rationing stamps and cards to reduce pressure on the public food supply. These gardens were also considered a civil morale boost in that gardeners could feel empowered by their contribution
of labor and rewarded by the produce grown. This made victory gardens a
part of daily life on the home front.
Randy called the co-op at Zenith to ask about getting a bucket full of fertilizer at the dry bulk bins. He says he has a "scientific blend" of half a bucket of 18-46-0 DAP and two scoops each of potash, K-Mag, lime, zinc and 40 Rock. It was blended by "Arm strong." (Isn't he full of jokes today?)
He broadcast the mixture in the garden plot.
Then he incorporated it using the rototiller. He has seed potatoes and onions planted, and he has dreams of adding green beans and carrots along with tomatoes when the time is right. I'm supposed to save my empty egg cartons so he can start seedlings.
As he says, it looks good for the time being because he has time to tend it. Check back with us in the summer when he's too busy already. (And if you're a long-time reader, you know I'm not a gardener.)
Now, if only we could plant toilet paper rolls and produce toilet paper we'd be set!
Maybe the toilet paper hoarders need to read the verse at the beginning of the Victory Cookbook:
An optimist is the human personification of spring.
–Susan J. Bissonette, author
"What would you like to say about the wheat in an update?" I asked my farmer.
"Well, let's see," he said ...
"It looks great, better than it has for several years."
"It's tillered and filled out."
"There are no mud holes, but it's also not dry and blowing away."
"It's one of the things looking great right now."
"It looks like a hundred-bushel crop ... Well, maybe not quite."
It's good to live with an optimist in these days of Covid-19. Honestly, it's good to live with an optimist anytime.
After his Kanza Co-op board meeting on Monday night, he had even more good news:
"Do you know what the latest shortage in grocery stores is?" Randy asked.
"Nope. I just know you still can't buy toilet paper." I said.
"It's flour and yeast. Everyone wants to make their own bread!" my farmer said. "Maybe that will help boost the price of wheat."
Well, I guess the market didn't hear that news yesterday because commodity prices took another dive. But there's always hope, I suppose.
Like I said, it's good to live with an optimist.
We'll see come harvest time!
And, by the way, his co-op board meeting was conducted at three different locations to make sure they didn't have more than 10 people at the same location and could maintain their 6-feet of separation. Technology for the win!
I often look out my front door in the late afternoon/early evening. It's an informal sky watch, a reflex as natural as thinking about what I'll cook for Randy's supper. As a sunset aficionado, I'm contemplating my chances for a stellar sky as day slips quietly into night.
Clear skies at sunset are usually boring. On a clear evening, the sun may be bright, and it may look like a red fireball sinking toward the horizon. There is beauty in that, to be sure. But clouds provide the texture. Think of the clouds as the painter’s canvas on which the sun paints its warm colors.
It was on such an evening that we made the short drive to Quivira National Wildlife Refuge. With some of the water rights issues between Quivira and the farming community, I haven't wanted to give a lot of publicity to the refuge. I'm sure nobody but me knew I was "boycotting." Kind of silly, right?
But on this particular night, the thought of a beautiful sunset sky over a body of water lured me back.
It didn't disappoint.
Even though the sun only broke through for a brief moment, it was all part of the show. The only living creatures we saw were ducks, geese and sandhill cranes winging their way back to the refuge and getting "tucked in" for the night after feeding in nearby fields.
We could hear the songbirds as they called to one another, and we saw an occasional ripple in the water caused by a turtle or fish.
I'd make brief trips to the pickup to get out of the breeze as the sun departed and left behind the chill of evening. But we stayed until there was hardly any light left behind to make sure we didn't miss a thing.
I've been thinking about sunsets and Covid-19. How can beauty and such an ugly virus be spoken in the same sentence? How could they possibly relate?
Cloudy skies elicit the most beautiful sunsets. Maybe "cloudy" times in our lives can help us to see things differently - to find the beauty in simple things.
While I much prefer seeing my family in person, I am so thankful for technology that still lets us "see" each other. How else could I see Brooke's animation and facial expressions? While I much prefer gathering for worship in our beautiful sanctuary, I appreciate the technology that enables us to "meet" as a community on a Sunday morning.
I've read posts from families who've dug old games out from the back of closets. Dinners around the table are a lot easier when there aren't the ballgames and dance lessons and meetings and the other "things" that clutter our lives with busyness. Those things are all good, but maybe, just maybe, being at home helps us take a breath.
Maybe it gives us time to look at the sunset and not worry about the things that are left undone. (And, of course, I'm not saying the virus itself is good. We can just find the good in a bad situation.)
One other night last week, we drove to a windmill a couple of miles away for another sunset "date." And again, I left feeling thankful.
Like the barbed wire, Covid-19 has us feeling confined and closed in. But we see example all over of positive responses - from teachers in impromptu "parades" waving to school children to hearts plastered on windows in the #aworldofhearts movement to "bear hunts" with stuffed bears peeking out of front windows, giving children something fun to look at on walks - and still maintain the ability to remain 6 feet away from their neighbors.
Maybe my middle-of-nowhere location doesn't allow me to participate in all of those things.
But it sure doesn't keep me from seeking the sunset.
The end. Or at least ... the final one of that night.
Be well everyone! Hoping you find the beauty amidst the clouds, too.
