Cowgirl in the Making

Today, I thought I'd invite you to visit the holler, make you smile, and maybe even bring you a few laughs. But first, a little back story...I'm sure you think I'm totally rocking this farmer's wife life, so you may not know that I didn't actually grow up on a farm. (Ok, even writing that first part made me laugh. The only thing I'm rocking around here is babies!) Several generations ago, my mom's side of the family farmed. Hundreds of acres. Over the years, land got split and divvied out to children, grand children and so on. Some people who inherited that land farmed what they received. Others built a house, but worked somewhere else. Unfortunately, some sold their portion of land for this reason or that. It happens. Point being, there is farming in that blood. By the time I came along, I had some cousins who still farmed around us, but for the most part my family members weren't farmers even though they still owned some of that original land. If my grandparents were still alive, they would be considered "hobby farmers" or some class of "homesteader" today, whether I like it or not. They had rabbits, goats, chickens, ducks, a stocked pond, and a very large garden. I'd call them more old school farmers because they diversified and had a little bit of everything to keep them going. They ate what they produced and sold extra. They lived a quarter of a mile or so from us, so I was around the animals often and could shell peas and break beans at an early age.

An extra special tidbit of information that most people don't know: Dad is secretly a cowboy. Long ago, when his family came to the U.S., they landed in Pennsylvania. This is where he was later born. His grandparents lived on a farm that he loved visiting, and his uncle had cattle. He remembers watching them work cattle when he was very young and he grew up wanting to be a live version of the onscreen cowboy, Roy Rogers. After moving to California, Dad grew up around orange groves and even helped on a chicken farm for a period of time. He has watched so many cowboy shows that he has a number of John Wayne's movies memorized because he has watched them that many times. In fact, my brother and I quote lines from "El Dorado" quite frequently because we watched it with him over and over and over growing up. ("He was limping when he left. He was limping when he got here!") And, when Jeremy and I were expecting, we actually entertained the idea of naming a son "John Wayne" or "Mississippi." Anyway...In its own way, being a cowboy/farmer is in Dad's blood, too. (Just a little differently than we see things here in the South.)

So, with that, picture 2011 when I marry an agriculture teaching cattle farmer and begin trying to summon every ounce of that farm/cowboy blood to make it work in the holler! Whew, what a feat! Before Jeremy and I met, I had never been up close and personal with cattle. I'm from row crop country. As I mentioned, my grandparents who lived down the road had small livestock. Well...everything was small except for Billy. That goat was HUGE! Especially to a small child. I was scared of him. I never remember him ever acting like he was going to hurt me, but since everyone always told me to, "Watch out for Billy," I was terrified. Anyway, so here I am with the love of my life trying to learn how to love cattle the way he does, and I don't want him to think I can't do it. I put on my biggest pair of big girl panties...and dive in.

Now, to be fair, Jeremy didn't just throw me to the bulls. He was very loving and patient and chivalrous at the beginning. We went to cattle sales where the livestock were calm. We walked around the pens talking about what was good about each cow, calf or bull. I learned alot of vocabulary and basics here. We would look at catalogs, and Jeremy would ask me to pick out the best ones. He said I had a natural eye. I knew which ones would bring the most money and looked the best even if I couldn't always describe them using the correct terms. We purchased a bred cow (Jackie) when we were engaged. She was an older cow who didn't cost much money. We got our feet wet. She had a heifer calf (Little Miss) not long after, and when she was old enough Jeremy taught me how to halter break her. She was about 550 pounds at the time, and more than big enough to drag me around the yard when she wanted to. Trying to convince an animal bigger than you to do what you say while holding a rope around their head is pretty challenging, I'll tell you that. Even though I could stand next to Little Miss, rub on her, and lead her around, I was still somewhat standoffish when Jackie was near by. She was a large SimAngus cow with a little bit of an attitude and protective of her baby. Not having been around cattle, she scared me even though I was assured, "She won't get you." (This is a common phrase used whether or not the cow will actually "get you" or not. Mostly, I think it's used to convince someone to assist with the cattle so you won't chicken out.)

As time passed, I was expected to do a little more each time we worked cattle. Like the time Jeremy and I were riding the 4-wheeler helping get up his parents herd when he stopped in the middle of the field, turned and said, "You get out here and stand in front of them, wave your arms, and don't let them get by you." To which my eyes grew to the size of saucers, and I promptly said, "Um, no." I wasn't about to get out in front of a HERD of running cattle in the MIDDLE of a field and "wave my arms" when I knew they wanted to get by and knew little me couldn't possibly stop big them. I seriously thought he had lost his ever lovin' mind and looked at him as if he were in fact loony. (I won by the way. He got off, and I rode the 4-wheeler.)

Then, there was the time I'm pretty sure I almost died. It was a year or so into our marriage, and we had purchased a registered bred cow that was a little "flighty", but we thought might calm down after being around us a while. Well, she had her calf and went plum crazy. Certifiably crazy. He and I were in the barn lot trying to feed the cows one day. I happened to be carrying a 5 gallon feed bucket. You veteran farmers know where this is headed, I'm sure. Well, crazy cow, whose registered name was Brittney, apparently didn't like my outfit that day or was just looking for a fight. She turned to me with THAT look in her eye. If you've ever worked cattle, you know the look I'm referring to. She lowered her head and started dancing with me. It wasn't a dance step I was familiar with or one that I particularly enjoyed. I had never been so scared in my life. I could see Jeremy standing somewhere behind her, but not within range to help me, and I started to panic. I had nowhere to go, and I still had the bucket. Of course, from where he was standing, there wasn't anything he could do but watch. "THROW THE BUCKET!" The bucket. You see, cows learn that food comes from that bucket. They follow it. I'd been told if you're holding a bucket and a cow comes after you, throw the bucket, they will go after it and leave you alone. (This is still debatable in my opinion, but whatever.) "No! It's all I've got!" In my head, somehow I was going to turn into a bull fighter with that bucket and keep the cow from knocking me down and wearing me out. I tried to go right, she followed. I tried to go left, she followed. As I said, I hated this dance of hers. At this point, I'm on the verge of tears, the cow is making an awful bawling noise mocking me, and Jeremy isn't doing anything but saying, "THROW THE BUCKET!" Finally, after an hour....ok...maybe it was only a few seconds, he yelled at her loudly enough to catch her attention just enough for me to turn and run for the gate. I then threw the bucket (finally) and scrambled up in the tractor where I began to sob. The cow went on her way, and Jeremy finished up and climbed up in the tractor...grinning and chuckling. Our marriage almost ended right there. (Not really, but I was MAD!) Of course, he did all kinds of apologizing and such. "I'm sorry, but all you had to do was throw the bucket!" And I countered with, "It's all I had between me and death! I can't run fast!" Followed by, "We need to sell that cow!" He laughed, and said she would settle down. The next week, she came after him and was immediately taken to the stockyard. Mmmm hmmm. That's exactly what I thought. ...stupid, crazy Brittney cow. Eventually, I sort of forgave him for all that. To this day, if I ever see an animal with any of her bloodline in it, I don't even give it a second look. I just say, "Nope. It's crazy," and move on.

Jeremy and I got into a pretty good rhythm after that. He knew what I was willing to do with the cattle, where I would be comfortable standing, etc. and I could tell him, "No," without him getting too upset. There are many times when, in spite of my lack of experience, he asks what I think we should do in situations. Maybe just so he stays on top of what I'm willing to do and what I'm not. ha! I have assisted with dehorning. Which I will NEVER do again thankyouverymuch. I've had the opportunity to witness calves being born and, unfortunately, helped pull calves when they got hung up. I've seen calves born live, and calves born dead. I've begged cattle to hang on when the spark of life has left their eyes, and they're trying to die on me. I've bottle fed babies and doctored sick animals. I've held manure covered tails while Jeremy pregnancy checked cows and banded bull calves. I've also banded a few of my own. I've tagged ears, given injections, and rubbed on bellies of bred cows to try to help them ease pain, and much, much more. There are animals I get attached to and those I'm glad to see sold. I've written checks to the vet for a cow Cesarean (Did you even know they did that?!) and to have a nail removed from a bull's foot after he stepped on it and it festered. I've worried and cried and stomped and fussed over so many animals that I have lost count. Many, if not all, of these things I never in my life thought I'd wind up doing. Yet, here I am, a cowgirl in the making. However, I'm still not, and never will be your average cattleman.