It’s September, and the cow pastures are once again dotted with
tiny, brand-new calves.
It’s September, and the cow pastures are once again dotted with tiny, brand-new calves.
A couple of Septembers ago my sister Sarah attended a writer’s retreat near Point Reyes. The weekend after she arrived, I went to visit her at the idyllic compound where she and a couple of other writers had time and space to move a writing project forward or simply gather strength for the next one.
The area around Point Reyes itself was a mosaic of fields, pastures and corrals mainly populated with dairy cows. During one of our explorations, we came down a hill toward the intersection with a main road. A corral of cows was to our right. Most were just standing around, some chewing on the remains of the last feeding. A few were lying down.
As we passed, I noticed that one of the cows on the ground had a dark red and black bulge seemingly growing from her hind end. Startled, I said to my sister, “I think that one’s giving birth!”
She slowed the car and backed up. The glossy bulge did indeed appear to be a calf making its way into the world for the first time.
Somehow without either of us saying a word, my sister and I agreed to watch the process. I had only seen the birth process on TV, and once or twice I have seen puppies being born.
The process was slow, and at times there seemed to be no movement at all. The cow herself seemed patient and resigned, and only occasionally did she appear to strain or push to move the calf out of her own body into the dusty, bright world.
Finally the calf had emerged completely. I don’t remember the details of the cow licking it off and drying it, nor do I remember how the umbilical cord got detached.
These details were overshadowed by the epic struggle that followed: The calf knew, as its race had evolved to know, that it must stand. Infant grazing animals do not have the luxury of stumbling around, blind and whimpering, that puppies, kittens and other predator babies have, safe in their dens with mothers who provide food.
No, calves and other prey babies must be ready to run for their lives the day they are born, so nature forces them to learn to stand immediately by placing their food source out of reach unless they do so.
So this calf got its front legs straight, then fell; got its hind legs straight, then fell; got one leg at a time straight and toppled over. This process continued over and over again until at last, all four legs were straight. Then the calf began the next instinctive effort, with many near-misses, of finding its mother’s udder for a much-needed snack.
My sister and I agreed that witnessing new life had been a gift, a reminder of the creativity that is all around us, and that the need for determination and persistence doesn’t mean the task is not worth doing.
