I heard a faint rumble in the distance as I arrived back at the dairy this afternoon. I had spent the rainy afternoon wandering up and down the aisles of Lowe's, dreaming up visions of what our new barn office will look like. And they thought I was harmless with a credit card.
The sun had peeked out for a while as I was driving back to the farm, but it was short lived. I walked into the calf barn barn just as the sky opened up. As the rain pounded the unweathered roof, I breathed in a sigh of relief to see all those sweet little faces.
You see, today I found something I never realized I had lost.
That feeling I had forgotten how to feel.
Let me start at the beginning;
On the day they are born I often find myself talking to them.
I tell them I will take care of them. And I mean it.
As they lay there, wet and wiggly, I look at them with amusement, with wonder.
Each one different, each one is unique.
All entrusted to my care.
There is an unspoken loyalty farmers have to their animals that no words can describe.
A loyalty to do the hard work, to stay through the night, to not give up.
But somewhere along the way, this promise had begun to pull heavy on me.
I still loved them all the same, but I had lost the wonder.
The roaring in my head was so loud, I had not even heard it leave.
A midst the endless buckets and bottles and washing and hurrying, calf feeding had turned into a job.
As guilty as I felt about it, I started to dread when a new one was born.
I had turned into a me I had never wanted to become.
On February 24, 2014 a few anxious people moved a lot of eager calves into a new barn.
We had diligently planned for it and had high hopes for what it would mean for our farm.
And in the 63 days since, something wonderful has crept back into my life.
A love for the job I was always meant to do.
And a little time to spend with the ones I love.
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