It seems wrong to be sad in May — it feels sacrilegious to bring my sadness out into this much sunshine — like I want to protect the sun from my tears so it doesn’t get the wrong idea. It’s okay, please keep shining. Don’t mind me over here — continue on into summer. I promise I will get on board with the seasons soon. Yesterday, the first flowers on our yellow rose bush bloomed and our Iris’ blossomed their purple heads. Yesterday, amidst all of the life on our farm, our beloved 4-month-old calf died.

Everyone told us that a dairy cow was a commitment. They shook their finger at me and said, “Jen, no one wants to milk a dairy cow twice a day. It ties you to your farm. It tethers you. Suffocates you. Strangles you. Don’t get a dairy cow.” ALL THOSE PEOPLE were wrong. A dairy cow is not only a commitment — she is a devotion, a daily sacrifice and a religious allegiance to the Great Bovine Gods. You cannot stray from your allegiance even for one moment, lest the cow’s udders burst from the gallons of milk inside that you failed to release for her.

The other morning I left the gate open to gather water for Rose (our 3-year-old Jersey cow) from our working spigot (as I do every morning) but on this morning, Ruth (our 3-week-old calf) got curious and followed me out of the gate. If the cows get out of the barnyard, their gate opens up onto another pasture on our property. But after that, the pasture becomes our driveway, then the road and then our neighbor’s yard. Once Ruth was out of the gate, she quickly bucked and kicked her way to the road and Rose began to trail behind her.

This weekend I learned how to give a newborn calf subcutaneous IV fluids. Ruth (this is our calf’s name but you can call her Mountain Goat if you like) was born weak and there are many reasons for that which I might get into later. She did not stand up and she did not start to nurse after she was born which is rare for a newborn calf. When I walked down to the barn and saw Ruth lying on the floor, she looked like a sack of ambiguous parts — an elbow here, two protruding eyes and a neck that seemed to be twisted at a ninety degree angle. I reached down and ran my hands over her body, checking to see if the right parts were present: a spine, a tongue, a belly and hooves. She seemed to be intact but sopping wet. I imagine that I walked down to the barn only moments before she was born. The bag of waters had already broken and she was breathing on her own while her mother (Rose) vigorously licked her, trying to warm her up. Ruth looked like a puppet who had been haplessly dropped on the floor, her strings and levers all tangled up in a pile.

November will forever be known as the month we got our first family cow. “Family cow” has an idyllic ring to it, a little romantic and probably connotes an idealized version of the life of a homesteader. I’m not sure our family cow is idyllic but she IS incredibly stubborn and prefers to eat the most expensive food instead of the bales of alfalfa and hay we got for her.

Our family cow (ROSE) arrived in a horse trailer at 4:30pm on a Monday evening. We are in that time of the year now where the sun goes down around 5pm so we had 30 minutes to milk her for the first time and get her into her stall before the dark settled in around us. Getting Rose into her stall took three of us — one to “lead” her by the halter and two to hold a rope around her back legs and firmly usher her toward her pen. Moving a 1,000 pound animal is not easy but it is really challenging when she does not want to move. Even with three of us working to move her, we came in at 1/3 of her weight. Rose stubbornly tiptoed into her stall after about 45 minutes of us pulling her and encouraging her with loving clucks which did not interest her in the least.

The past weeks seem to have been full of animals here on the farm — animals coming and going, preparing to go. Yes, we will be butchering our pigs this month. Yes, it is sad and YES, we are waaaaaaay too attached to them. Yes, we made the mistake of naming them and petting them and loving them and calling them adorable nicknames. Everyone told us to name them “Bacon” and “Pork Chop” but I cannot. I will get attached to my pigs every time and every time we butcher them, it will be sad to see them go. But also, you will be able to order very delicious bacon from our farm store very soon. It’s getting OFFICIAL around here.