January 9, 2011

• On Saturdays in winter, we don’t work more than is necessary. Still, it takes all morning to feed all the cattle everywhere, with Stan, Phillip, Theron, Lee and Jim working this day, while Derek and Keith were off.

  We have a very efficient way to feed the cattle–from silos on most of the places. There are 14 scattered over the farms, with automated feeders connected to them. If all goes well, the man feeding goes into the little shed with the controls, sets the amount of silage and the corresponding amount of grain, flips the switch, and the feed is distributed by a conveyor belt, up and down the length of the covered feeder. The cattle then enjoy a delightful (to them!) meal, in a restaurant (to them!) setting. Well, it’s not sit-down but at least they’re protected from the elements while they enjoy a delicious and fragrant meal of juicy silage laced with just the right amount of grain.

  That’s in a perfect world. Rarely does it go that smoothly at all locations. Mechanized workings have a way of being contrary. But after many years of doing this, the more seasoned employees know how to fix non-major breakdowns. They keep some very basic tools with them and can generally get the job done without too much trouble. But there are exceptions, things they cannot fix.

  Yesterday was an exception. It does seem like the exceptions usually happen on weekends; that’s one of Murphy’s laws that applies to farming. I attended a meeting in town of a women’s organization to which I belong, taking my mother-in-law with me. We got home at 1:00, and my farmboy was coming in the house just as I drove in the driveway. While he peeled off layers of cold-weather garb, I fixed a quick lunch of soup and sandwiches, and finally we both sat down to watch a little football, snooze, read, knit and, generally, to relax. In a little while, he pushed back his recliner and closed his eyes, sinking into a well-earned nap. But it didn’t last long; a half-hour later the phone rang, and the message was typical. 

  “Stan, that toggle switch that has been giving me trouble at the Van Voris place went out. I won’t be able to feed in the morning until you replace it.”

  Sigh. We both sighed. It doesn’t do a bit of good to be aggravated or to grumble. After another 30 minutes, he said, “I’ll go on and fix it,” and I said, “I’ll come with you.” So back on came the layers, and off we went. His farm truck is a veritable store of electrical, mechanical and plumbing supplies, and he already had a new toggle switch and tools to fix it on board.

  I took my camera, hoping for some wildlife sightings, because this particular farm is way back there, but the only animal life we saw consisted of cattle. One lone coyote was trotting along a fenceline in the distance, but it was too far for a picture. While the resident electrician did his job, I walked down the lane past the silo, getting a little exercise and keeping warm. The cattle were curious about me, and the calves were frisky. It was so quiet and peaceful, and I again understood why this herd always does so well. It’s a great place up there for cattle.

  By the time the new switch was installed, the sun was getting low in the western sky. Since we were already there, we took the time to check the mineral feeders and creep feeders, and in so doing so we climbed up on a high place and were treated to an exceptional sunset. Clouds were streaming from north to south, escorting in some colder air, and the air was so clear and crisp. I stood out on that hilltop and was again amazed at how privileged we are to live in such a beautiful place.

  Even though we didn’t spend the afternoon snugly tucked into a warm house watching the Saints be upset, it turned out pretty good. In fact, I’m certain there are countless numbers of people who would have traded places with me in a heartbeat. But I think I’ll stick with my job. It does have some pretty special perks.

  • 9:05 am
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