My younger brother was married this June. There was a bit of a debate about where to hold the reception and, after much deliberation, the decision was made to make some upgrades to our heifer farm and host the party there. Said heifer farm housed our youngstock for 15 years, and my non-imaginative brain could not comprehend how we could turn it into something that resembled a wedding venue. My mother took to Pinterest for inspiration and my sister-in-law’s father spent some time sketching out ideas and voila, they had a plan.
We spent a few weekends cleaning. Fifteen years of functioning dairy farm can acquire some unwanted decor for a wedding venue. Gone were the remnants of straw, calf grain buckets, traces of manure, rope halters for my show heifers, bottle holders for milk bottles, so on and so forth. Gravel was moved in, sod laid, cement poured and grain bins remodeled to meet Pinterest’s wildest dreams. My husband – the family electrician – spent a weekend wiring power to the updated buildings. I, being heavily pregnant, wasn’t allowed to participate in much of the cleaning/working duties. Instead, I played with my dog, Hank, and offered moral support. As the sun set one evening, I took Hank on a walk around the farm. This used to be a well-worn path of mine, one that I traveled at least once per day in the summer months. Our farm is laid out in a rectangle with a driveway outskirting the pens. It made for a great exercise loop with my show heifers, and like I said, I spent many mornings and evenings walking this gravel.
Hank and I set off down the south lane, and I looked out over the river bottoms that bordered our property. I smiled as I reflected on how much my life has changed since those daily laps around the farm. Instead of pulling a stubborn heifer along with me, my Australian shepherd excitedly sniffed around and jogged in front of me. I didn’t need boots for this walk, as Hank only weighs 40 pounds and wouldn’t hurt too badly if he stepped on some toes, and my swollen ankles couldn’t fit in anything but tennis shoes at that point. We moved along at a glacial pace in comparison to what I would exercise my heifers at (a near-trot for the extra heavy ones) – the little life I was growing did a great job of slowing me down. I didn’t wear headphones and didn’t even have my phone on me – which would’ve resulted in a panic attack during my teenage years – just enjoyed the sounds of the country as Hank and I strolled along.
I got a little teary-eyed looking at the now-empty pens. Most were torn down and empty dirt lots. I paused for a second between our old hay shed and the new heifer pens we built after said hay shed burned down seven years ago. The burnt footings still remained in the same place and the concrete at the new pen’s feedbunk looked a little worn. I recalled the horrors of that day and the blessings that took place after it. Lessons on the farm are often hard-learned but stay with you for a lifetime.
As we turned the corner to head back to the rest of the family, I passed by the footings of our maternity shed. It had been torn down in the wedding preparation, and I stared with misty eyes as I recalled the many days I watched calves take their first breaths there. It’s where I pulled my first calf, felt the heartbreak of a promising show heifer being stillborn, discovered a few sets of surprise twins and learned just how wonderful God’s creations really are. I kept walking to the old calf barn and relived so many sweaty nights and frigid mornings feeding calves, shaking my head at all the times I’d dreaded that task. I’d give a lot to feed one last shift of calves again.
Hank spotted my husband and bounded for him, and as I watched the two of them together and felt my little boy move around in my tummy, I sent up a prayer of gratitude. That walk down the old farm lane is one I’ll cherish forever, just like the memories made there.
