By Jennifer Welch
It’s embarrassing, really. I’ve lost two cows in two months. The first cow, Luna, snagged her training halter on a tree limb and snapped her neck trying to get loose. The second, my favorite cow, Deluxe, pushed her way into our feed stores and ate an entire bag of layer pellets. She perished three days later, despite our best efforts to keep her alive. Both of these deaths were the result of management issues.
No matter how embarrassing it is, I chose to write about it. When Luna died, I wrote about how I had remained strong and calm in the presence of our farm intern, my children, and even my husband. Then I got into the shower. And I broke. I broke into a thousand-million tiny pieces – some of which washed down the drain, mixing with beads of scalding water; some of which I will never see again. Pieces of me and pieces of her. Lost forever.
Two months later, I wrote about Deluxe. She had been a gift for my thirtieth birthday. A week ago, at 9:44 a.m., my husband walked into the kitchen to let me know that the cows had gotten into a bag of chicken feed. We spent the entire weekend trying to save her, and on Monday she succumbed to grain overload. It was heartbreaking to write about it, but I felt I had no choice. As I write this, my husband is in the barn carefully carving up steaks, which we will feed to our dogs that tirelessly guard our livestock. As I write this, my kids are outside playing in the dirt pile by the barn, wondering when dinner will be ready. As I write this, I am sitting on my porch, drinking a very nice single malt Scotch, tears streaming down my face. I slowly pick myself up from the porch chair and wipe the tears from my cheek as I move into the kitchen to prepare dinner for the kids. And as I look to see what time it is, I notice that the clock is stuck, as it has been for days, at 9:44 a.m. And I raise my glass. And I break, all over again.
Less than a week later, I was meeting up with Amy, the former owner of Cottonwood Creek Dairy and a good friend. She gave me a hug, much like the one I gave to her upon watching the last of her cows pull out of the driveway on their way to their new home. You might recall that she knows “what it is” about a cow. She thanked me for caring for my animals and loving them in a way that is becoming a lost art on most big farms. Then she thanked me for being brave enough to write about it all: the good, the bad and the ugly.
It’s funny, looking back. Two years ago, local women farmers inspired me to turn my farm into a business. They gave me the courage to offer products to consumers, to write about my experiences, and to start calling myself a farmer, even though I had been farming for years. And now, one of those very women was standing on my porch, thanking me for doing something she had inspired me to do.
The following day, I hosted the very first Arkansas Valley Women Farmers Group. We met at The Crowded Acre, toured the farm, introduced ourselves and our ideas, and pledged our knowledge and support to each other and to other women farmers, new and existing. It was humbling to be a part of; to have such strong, beautiful women coming together over such an important cause. It was humbling to come full circle.
Jen Welch lives and writes in the Upper Arkansas River Valley and is looking forward to it all: the good, the bad and the ugly.
