We Get By

Phil called this morning from the pasture. I had just gotten up and done my morning retching, happily had not yet eaten (digestion takes all my energy, and, frankly, hurts. So I lie down after eating). "All the cows are gone. I need you to get dressed and come help."

This was actually a relief. Phil had gone late yesterday, despite feeling ill and run down, to move the cows into the next pasture, which required extra line stringing. He had about 100 feet to go, and the cows were far away in the previous pasture. He decided to open the pen, so he wouldn't have to hike back again later.

Sadly, the reel he grabbed to finish the job happened to be broken, and as the eager cows moved rapidly towards the opening, the entire 3000' of line suddenly balled into an unusable mass. How to keep 16 cows from escaping, without electric line or aid? And with a rotten dog chasing them where he didn't want them to go?

Almost impossible. A fall in the creek. A lot of running. An extra hour of work. And when they were finally corralled, night had fallen so deeply that he couldn't find all the posts he set up. So the line wrapped around some trees, and he didn't turn it on.

In the night, I heard dogs barking. When we moved here, there were reports of nasty packs killing calves, and I had horrible visions of dead calves littering the pasture.

By comparison, lost cows were not much to deal with.

While Phil fixed the line in the corral, I headed out to bring the cows back. They had ranged further than ever before, grazing almost up to neighbor Butch's house, three properties away. Once I reached the lead cow, I turned her around and then the whole herd headed back where they were supposed to go.

But I only had 15: one of the calves was missing. A little calf, somewhere on three properties, could be almost anywhere.

The cows reached their proper spot, and then kept going. (To keep their access open, the line was down, and they looped back out.) So Phil and I headed them off again. Somewhere along that stretch, we picked up the last calf. What a relief!

In other news, we've had a lot of rain. And snow. I have reached a point of morning sickness where I can hardly focus to write (hence, no posts since last Wednesday). I read as much as nine hours a day when I first started feeling ill, but I don't have that stamina any more. We have watched about a movie a day lately: the boys had their first taste of Romeo and Juliet and As You Like It. Also The Blind Side (Joe slept through that, which was probably good) and The Importance of Being Earnest. And Pixar. Lots of Pixar.

I don't know how chronically ill families manage. Phil is about at the end of his rope, trying to deep with cows and construction, basic cooking and cleaning. And parenting. And errands. I'll be ten weeks tomorrow. I usually feel better around week 20 (though maybe the worst is over before that? I don't remember). When he realized he might have ten more weeks, he said, "I don't think I'm going to make it."

We will make it. We have before. Perhaps it's nice that, when one has the flu, other people's angst fades in the moment to moment need to survive. In some ways, that's where I am. I'm sorry Phil is struggling, I'm sorry the boys are stuck inside watching more movies than I'd willingly choose, but physically I feel bad enough, I am not offering up much sympathy.

With such a cheery post as this, I feel like I should end on a happy note. Maybe something like, "So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

Wait. No. That's not a happy note!

(And that is actually the happy note. I can still make a literary joke, even from my super sick bed! Hooray for The Great Gatsby!)