CALVING 3/12/26

After a dry winter, this new season holds hope and expectation: our family’s 310 mother cows, barrel-round and awkward, wait patiently for their calves to be born; the fields, dry and brittle—crack open—praying for spring moisture; and the ranchers, excited for another year of the life they love, keep a close eye on the snow reports.

It was Sunday evening, and my husband, Andrew, and I were on our way to tacos in town before 5:30 church. In his best cowboy hat and boots, Andrew drove with our 10-year-old daughter, Esther, and I rode with our 20-year-old son, Life, who was heading back over the pass after dinner.

Andrew spied a wet and wobbly calf in the field, pulled over, and hopped the barbed wire fence. Life and I followed. Esther, hungry for tacos, fumed in the front seat—knowing that getting between a 1200-pound cow and her calf can be very dangerous—and that ranch stuff always takes longer than Dad says.

The calf was abandoned by its mother who had mistakenly taken to another cow’s calf, whose ear tag matched its own mother’s number. We needed to separate the new mother from the wrong calf while switching her attention to her own calf. This sounds easier than it is. When a cow has it in her mind that a calf is hers, she is fiercely protective and loyal, even to the point of abandoning her actual calf.

And an abandoned calf, left to itself, is a dead calf.

Andrew bawled like a calf and guided the wobbling baby towards its mother. Life and I stood with arms stretched wide to keep the cow from running towards the wrong calf. She heard Andrew’s bawl and walked toward her calf just long enough for us to turn and run the other pair further away. She bawled, and her calf answered back—and so began the gentle process of sniffing, licking, and bonding.

With Sunday’s clock ticking, Life and I headed into town. Andrew stayed to make sure the pair was actually paired. Unfortunately, the cow left her calf again, searching the fields and sniffing the air for the wrong calf. Knowing that he had to confine the pair in the barn for the night, Andrew took Esther home to get the ATV with a calf sled tied to the back. The sled holds the calf so it can be transported while still allowing the mother cow to see it and follow. A cow needs to have its eyes on its calf, or it will eventually wander back to where it was born, and bawl until it returns.

Esther was not happy. She knew she was missing out on Life, tacos, and church. She demanded Andrew’s phone to entertain her, but he reminded her that it was our day to unplug. She could either help him get the pair in the barn, or she could wait in the car.

An ATV ride in the cool air helped her attitude. Andrew loaded the calf into the sled, slipping its bony hind leg through a slot to keep the calf from jumping out. The cow sniffed the sled and followed her calf as it slid along the dusty, brittle field.

Esther sat back-to-back with Andrew, keeping an eye on the animal train and mumbling about tacos and Life. As they neared the corrals and the calving barn, Andrew slowed even more, and the mother’s two front hooves stepped onto the base of the sled. He stopped and started again, thinking she’d step off. However, not only did she not step off—she started walking her back legs while keeping her front legs planted on the sled.

Esther watched in amazement and dissolved into giggles. “Dad! The mama’s surfing! It’s a surfing cow!”

Tacos now the farthest thing from her mind, she grabbed Andrew’s phone from his back pocket. She belly-laughed as she jumped off the ATV and videoed the surfing cow for her older siblings—all away from the ranch in various degrees of adulting.

The barn echoed with Esther’s laughter as the ATV, the sled, and the cow rolled in and the big end doors were pulled closed. The calf was let loose from the sled and led into a straw-filled pen while its mother gave a soft moooo, nudging and knocking it over. The calf stood and bobbed its head along the cow’s warm belly until it found her soft, warm teats and began to nurse. The cow licked her calf’s back and sniffed and lowed as the calf’s furry tail wiggled in delight.

Andrew and Esther made it in time to stuff down a taco and tell the story of the surfing cow before Life headed over the pass. We walked across the church parking lot, Andrew dusting off his hat and stomping manure from his boots while Esther skipped on ahead. He opened the door for me and smiled—the last moments of sun filling the valley with soft light as evening set in.