January 15, 2021 • 0 comment(s)
I have loved my family’s land for as long as I can remember. When I was younger I had a fort literally over the river and through the woods. I used to go there and build things every day. Cutting pine branches, stacking more logs, making it more weatherproof. I remember one day crossing the pasture and seeing a cow giving birth. She was standing up and the birth liquids pooled around the baby’s head. The birth sack didn’t rip when the baby fell out. I ran over and tried to rip it off. The calf was suffocating. The birth sack was so much more sturdy than I expected and I struggled. The baby was dying. But eventually I was able to rip it, and the calf survived. I remember the day years later when I went to check on a laboring cow on my way to my fort. I was carrying a bucket of water and a flake of hay. I got close to her and saw her still, glassy eyes. The flake of hay dropped to the ground and so did the water bucket. I learned life and death in those carefree days.
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August 5, 2019 • 0 comment(s)

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