Life is Amazing ... And It's Awful

Life is amazing.

And it's awful.

And in between the amazing and the awful,

it's ordinary and mundane

and routine.

Breathe in the amazing,

hold on through the awful

and relax and exhale

during the ordinary.

That's just living.

Heartbreaking,

soul-healing,

amazing, ordinary life.

And it's breathtakingly beautiful.

L.R. Knost

Not too long ago, I saw the prose by Knost on a friend's Facebook page. And I thought about how it so poetically describes this season of life - and death - on the farm.

We are in the "heart" of calving season on The County Line. (And, yes, the pun is intended with this cute little calf who sports his own heart - not on his sleeve, but on his chest.)

There's not a whole lot cuter than baby calves - except granddaughters, of course.

We are about halfway done with the population boom along The County Line.

Most of the baby calves and their mamas do well.

 

It's a delight to watch the babies scamper across the lots or pasture, kind of like kids playing tag. It's a miracle to watch the mamas instinctively care for their babies.

In the scheme of things, I suppose we take that for granted.

 But sometimes there's a back story - a story that doesn't have a happy ending. Or it may take a whole lot of extra work.

This guy was born at our Peace Creek pasture.

The mama tried ...

My favorite cattleman tried. I helped, too.

But, despite the teamwork, the calf didn't make it.

Today, I'd planned a blog post about how all our efforts for another baby calf were paying off. But, the story has a different ending than we'd planned.

We were trying to save the surviving twin born to heifer No. 880. One of the twins died at birth.

The surviving twin was smaller than normal. And because the calf was having trouble sucking, Randy milked the heifer.

 

Thankfully, the mama was patient. After a few days, she pretty much directed herself into the head gate in the calving shed to be milked.

 

At first, we had to tube feed the baby.

Getting a little warm milk in its belly helped perk it up a bit, but it still just wanted to be lazy.

It was finally strong enough to get up on its feet. But it still had trouble finding the right end of the heifer for the "faucet." It still didn't have much power - or interest - in sucking.

It progressed to bottle feeding, so it was getting better at sucking. 

Each morning, we'd let the mama out into the heifer lot for feed and water. Then, at night, we'd bring her back into the calving shed to try again. 

Kinley and Brooke will be here later this week and then the whole family will be here this coming weekend. We thought they'd enjoy the bottle-feeding process. We had planned to continue to bottle feed the little calf through the weekend, then take it to the sale barn, where we hoped a little 4-Her would need a bucket calf project. I laughed and told Randy that he was letting family influence his cattle management decisions.

But, Monday morning, Randy found that the calf had died overnight. So the hopeful story - contrasting life and death - suddenly became a lot less joyful.

I realize the death of a calf does not come close to the death of a beloved family member. We learned about the death of such a father and much-respected community member to cancer that same morning. Another rural family I know of via the blogging world is dealing with their son's paralysis after a skiing accident. There are many others recovering from surgery or facing other challenges - whether they be physical, mental or spiritual. This little story about a calf can't compare to these human trials.

But as I read the tributes to the man who lost his battle with cancer and I saw more posts of support for that family as their son continues rehab sessions, I thought more about it. Life is amazing. And it's awful. And then it's ordinary and mundane.

God calls us to all of it in the different seasons of our days and lives. He also calls us to keep our eyes on the amazing and beautiful - even in the messy, awful parts of the journey. And He asks us to help carry the load for others along the way.

It's A Snow Globe World

The world looked like God had a snow globe in the palm of His hand, then flicked His wrist and gave it a little shake. And the big flakes of snow fell softly and silently back down to earth.

Snow globes remind me of my Grandma Neelly. She didn't travel a great deal. But, when she did, she'd raid the souvenir shops for snow globes or crinkly neon-colored coin purses showing the Grand Canyon or some other American landmark. She was a classy woman, but you couldn't tell it from her souvenir choices.

 

My 8-year-old self loved the snow globes as the snowflakes danced their way from top to bottom, catching in the crevices of the plastic Golden Gate Bridge or some other attraction.  Shake them up, and a kaleidoscope of snow would obscure the plastic figures inside.

 

So, it's no wonder that I upended my to-do list yesterday with as much fervor as I'd shake a snow globe. The flakes - from infinitesimal to ginormous - were calling a silent song as my world became a snow globe, too. 

Yesterday, instead of Empire State Buildings or the White House, the cows and calves in the heifer lot and in the pasture south of the house were the the figures catching the snowflakes' descent.

 

But then, as I returned to the house to make dinner, flashes of red darted through the snowscape scene in my backyard.

 

After patiently sitting on the back steps, trying not to make any sudden movements, I captured a few photos of our backyard troubadours.

After many other days when my efforts were less successful, I was pretty excited.

 

  

But it was my reliable "models" who were most ready for their close-ups.

It's rare that snow falls in Kansas without a gusting wind on the side.

I think 002 has the sweetest face!

Even though the wind came up as we checked the lots and pastures before dusk, most of the day was uncharacteristically calm and still.

 Our little friends had plenty of straw ...

And their own personal milk machines dispensing warm beverages. 

We had six new babies yesterday at various pasture locations. But the human in charge did his usual good job as steward. Honestly, the moms were the rock stars yesterday.

I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields that it kisses them so gently?

 And then it covers them up snug, you know, 

with a white quilt. 

And perhaps it says, "Go to sleep, darlings,

till the summer comes again."

-- Lewis Carroll 

And from author Mark Haddon (below):

Snow blobs and softens the top of every object like cream on a plum pudding. 

 

Hedges, telephone wires, cars, postboxes ... The world is losing its edges.

 

Look upwards and it seems as if the stars themselves are being poured from the sky and turn out not to be vast and fiery globes after all ...

 ... but tiny, frozen things which melt in the palm of your hand.