"Quiet"

The quiet that embraces a farm during the moonlit hours of summer is not the result of the absence of noise.  Instead, the continuous croaking of frogs in the pond echo off the amphitheatre of hillside trees in a chorus of tones ranging from bass to tenor.  Bull frogs compete with “peepers” for a few seconds in the soloist spotlight.  The night sounds that sooth the resting soul also include the lonely “hooting” of owls as they peer through the darkness for prey and a midnight snack.  Outside the farmhouse, the contented sounds of cows chewing their cud can be heard, along with their deep breaths of relief for the coolness of the night that refreshes them for tomorrow’s long hours of grazing in the heat of an unsympathetic sun.

Occasionally, the quiet solitude is broken by my Border Collies’ barks of warning as they stand guard over their domain.  The normal intruders are four-legged varmints that are part of the deer, raccoon, and skunk families that co-exist on our farm.  After sounding their alarm, and receiving a few shouts of “quiet” from the farmhouse windows, the dogs relax their watch and the night time sounds subside back to the normal background of “hoo-hooos” and “rrrrrribits.” 

On Tuesday of this week, I awoke in the early morning hours and listened.  I closed my eyes and relished the quiet knowing that in less than 24 hours, there would be a new chorus chiming into the night songs.  Thanks to sporadic rainfall and short pastures, we decided to wean our spring 2007 calves earlier than normal.  We calve out most of our Hereford cows in January and February, with a few born in early March.  In normal years, our weaning falls in September when the days and nights are cooler.  I usually try to time this stressful period in our calves’ lives when temperatures are lower and when tree leaves help absorb some of their serenading.  It’s also at a time when our neighbors within earshot can close their windows to shut out the extra nighttime voices. 

As we wrapped up the cattle work Wednesday evening, having weighed, vaccinated, and de-wormed the calves, I knew it would be a matter of minutes until the chorus began.  A crescendo of “mooing” rose up when the gate closed behind the last cow.  She and her herd mates realized something was up as their calves peered out toward the pasture from inside the fenced corral.  The octaves climbed as the cows called more frequently and loudly to their calves.  Just like upset mothers whose children refuse to come when called, our cows shifted into a higher, louder pitch, hoping to be heard and obeyed.  This time, only the calves’ higher pitched moos came back to the cows in response to their repeated calling. 

We have found that across-the-fence weaning is less stressful on cows and calves, but the doubled decibel level of bawling is tough on people when both cows and calves remain on the same farm.  The only thing to look forward to, as pillows are piled on sleepy heads to muffle the singing bovines’ concert, is that the duration of this chorale will be just another 24 hours.  After that time, the lead singers are generally too hoarse to be heard, and their croaking blends in with the usual chorus of nearby night owls and bull frog backup singers. 

After one sleep deprived night, I welcome the quiet once again when the nighttime is pierced with less frequent appeals from our Hereford “mama-babies” to be reunited with the cows.  Their dams now realize that their calves are not coming back to nurse and are settling into a new routine as they prepare for next year’s future calf crop.  It’s a cycle most of the cows have been through before.  It’s a yearly routine that Mike and I have experienced for more than a quarter century as beef farmers.  Separating cows and calves is always traumatic and I empathize each time this season comes around. 

When our daughter, Emilie, left home and headed for Kansas State University, it was the same time of year for weaning calves.  Mike and I felt the immediate void in our lives when we drove back to Pennsylvania from Manhattan, Kansas.  It was driven home even more when we started working cattle without our third pair of helping hands.  We had to adapt our handling methods dramatically to compensate for Emilie’s absence.  During her 18 years with us, she had grown into an integral helper on the farm. 

As we began the 2003 weaning process, we found ourselves almost calling out to Emilie to hang onto a gate, grab a halter, or get another job done while we caught, corralled, vaccinated, and fought with uncooperative cattle as a pair instead of a trio.  The reality of her absence kept us quiet, and adapting to the change.

During Emilie’s three and a half years away at college, Mike and I made much-needed changes to our chute and gate system so that we could accomplish what took three before with just two people.  Now that she has graduated and returned back to the farm and her herd of Herefords, Emilie appreciates the improvements made in the barns and so do Mike and I.  We are calmer, and so are the cows, as we move through the stressful season of weaning and working calves. 

We love our life on the farm.  It's a pleasure to once again have Emilie's company and conversations as she continues her career in the beef business back home in Pennsylvania.  We even appreciate the contribution our harmonious bovines make to the pastoral sounds of several summer nights as they signal the start of another beef year, saying goodbye to one calf and hello to the next one waiting to be born.  They make us appreciate the "quiet" of F-A-R-Ming.    

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