In our small herd of crossbred cattle, we have a cow named Oreo. I say we. Actually, Oreo belongs to our granddaughter, Jane. When Jane was younger, and less busy, she named all the new-born calves. She was quite creative in her naming – Monster, Pluto, Venus, Mercury, Dozier, Coco, Meteor, Ruby, Punkin, among others. Of all she named Oreo was her favorite. She chose Oreo to be her first cow.
When the time came her time to calve, Oreo had great difficulty – big calf, slow birth. Try as we might, we couldn’t save the calf. Jane’s father, Joseph, said “Sell her.”
“It’s not your decision,” I offered.
“Let’s give her another chance,” said Jane. And so, we did.
Ten months later Oreo brought a big, stout bull calf into the world. We were all smiles. Unfortunately, Oreo’s calf came at an odd time of the year and fell victim to a bush hogging mishap a few weeks later. Strike 2. Joseph was crushed and offered one of his calves to cover Jane’s loss.
“Better sell her,” he said.
“Not her fault,” said I. Sometimes older eyes and hearts can see things younger ones fail to comprehend. “Let’s give her one more try.”
As most of my readers know, my wife, Kathy, died four weeks ago. I was told by friends, and fully understood, some hard days lay ahead. Last Saturday was my worst day, so far.
It became necessary for me to search the house for a number of items (billing statements, check books, etc.) As I looked through file folders, envelopes, binders, and desk drawers, I ran into Kathy at every turn. By the end of the day, to say I had the blues would be an understatement. I no longer wanted to be in the house. How could I escape this deep sense of loneliness and despair?
“I’ll go and check my cows,” I thought. So, I did.
When I arrived at the farm, I noticed Oreo was in the back of the pasture far from the rest of the herd. She was standing with another cow that had calved recently and was keeping her newborn at a safe distance. That was not unusual. Oreo, by nature, was shy. When I called the cows in to treat them to ground feed, Oreo was the last cow to come in, if she came in at all. My focus this day was on the rest of the herd. After I counted cows and checked on all the calves, I headed back in the direction my truck.
Being in no hurry, I gazed back across the field in Oreo’s direction. As I had checked on her in the weeks before she had shown no signs of calving.
“Better give her a look,” I thought. “Besides, the walk will do me good.” So, I began a walk of 1000 yards. Oreo was standing with her back to me as I made my approach. I quickly noticed the back quarters of her utter had filled out.
“Close to calving!” I thought.
Then, he stepped out of her shadow! Black as midnight, no more than a day this side of new-born, of a wiry constitution, on legs of which he was uncertain; he “bucked’ a couple of times to let the world know he meant business.
I cried like a baby. Then, my tears turned to rejoicing, and my rejoicing turned to praise.
In the next hour, a friend would call out my name with a lilt in his voice as I drove past him, and I would find that a neighbor had mowed my yard at the other farm. I would discover a letter filled with carefully chosen words from a fellow mayor, and a granddaughter would volunteer to spend the night to make my house feel less empty.
Over the past month so many, through texts, emails, cards, phone calls, and in person, have offered these words of comfort: “You are in my/our thoughts and prayers.” I have given that a great deal of thought. What does that mean? I have come to the conclusion when a person is lifted up in thought and prayer it gives God the freedom to use His creative imagination to bless.
Like the timing of Oreo’s 3rd chance, or the sound of a friend’s voice, or the kind gesture of a neighbor, or a thoughtful letter, or a granddaughter’s sensitivity.
I would call them “blues chasers.” But it goes far deeper than that.
Copyright 2024 by Jack McCall
