The Definition of Fall

When Phil went out to do chores, Charity was up and eating. The boys and I went out and admired her, resting right by the fence for our viewing enjoyment.

Abraham said, "It's like she's in a cow nest!" And it certainly was.

Although Charity was our fifth calf, she was the first one we watched during birth. And of the previous four, one we were away on vacation, one was born in six inches of rain and almost died, one was born in the midst of an incredible heatwave and almost died of heat exhaustion, and one was cared for very well by the mother in a secret place, where we didn't even see him for some unknown amount of time.

Which is to say, we have never had the pleasure of watching the first day of life for a healthy calf. It was an absolute joy. She stood, back legs shaking, just gaining the strength to stand.

She would go and curiously try to nuzzle Fern, and once, I could tell, she debated whether to go under Fern's belly to get to the other side (Fern stepped aside before she could complete this rash plan). With the nuzzling, we wondered if she was hungry, but as soon as she'd get near her mom, she'd suddenly frisk all about. Once she kicked up her heels a bit too vigorously, and crashed down in a little heap of long legs. But she jumped up again, completely undaunted.

At one point, I brought her mother some aloe pellets. While the mother licked the bowl clean, Charity came up to me, and let me pet her head and scratch her ears. None of the other calves have been nearly so brave. My heart enlarged at least one size, if not two.

This morning, Bethany had not yet fully released the placenta. I haven't dealt with a retained placenta, and the four resources I checked all said different things. Of the reasons for such a problem (stress, twins, heat, nutrition), only nutrition seems to be a possible reason. We dosed her with the homeopathic remedy Caulophylum, and gave her plenty of aloe vera pellets, but as night fell tonight, though the placenta was a good bit further out, it had not quite fully released. There are, apparently, 70-90 connection points, or cotyledons, that need to separate naturally, lest infection or hemorrhage begin, so no tugging on the dangling mass (not even trained vets do that).

Other than the retained placenta, it was a perfect day. The grey skies kept the warmth close to the ground, and as we worked outside, the oaks began to release their leaves, and we stood in fall, the very definition.

Jadon was on top of the cattle trailer and when the first gentle gust blew the leaves down around him, I stood and watched him watch the leaves come down. Such a moment.

Perhaps I've mentioned before how some years Colorado has the 24-hour fall. The leaves start to turn when a massive wet snow knocks all the leaves to the ground. (I think it was 1995 when this happened in September, before the leaves had even started to turn. That was a long winter.) Because snow on the ground in Colorado rarely lasts more than 48 hours, and January sometimes reaches 70 degrees, winter is not onerous there. But it seems like it might, and usually does, snow through all the usual "fall" months, as well as "winter" and even, maybe, "spring," that the reality of a fall where leaves fall: even though this is our third fall in Virginia, it amazes me yet.

Abraham had, perhaps, the most ideal way to celebrate fall. He pushed all the leaves that fell on the trampoline into a pile, then jumped in the pile.

Anyway, Jadon was on the cattle trailer because he was helping us construct the cows' winter protection, a lean-to built against the cattle trailer, made of cattle panels and a tarp. (Note the wood resting against the side: that's our method of drying lumber. Phil had seen a photo of a farm where they made teepees of drying lumber, which he thought would work well. It makes a great ramp for the boys.)

It took perhaps an hour, and then we had a very nice shelter: covered from rain and snow, blocked on the windy side. The cattle trailer is right there, should we need to succor any struggling calf (which is good, because my living room is generally packed with toys, books, and sundry items, I don't think we could get a calf in it again). Our husbandry is a bit better: we are a bit more preemptive, rather than reactionary.

When it was finished, Phil wanted to make sure Charity knew what it was used for. So he went over and picked her up and carried her into it.

I rather wonder if he just wanted an excuse to be close to the little sweetie.

And in the afternoon, we planted bulbs.