Our first day of vacation was spent at Innisfree on the Stillwater, herding and sorting cattle for spring processing. This was the first time we’ve helped bring the herd in from the field, and it was definitely a learning experience for all. You may recall that the herd of Black Angus at Innisfree is a little on the feisty side, and that they tend to have a will all their own. On this fine spring day, their will did not include coming into the barn to be sorted.

So our little band took to the field, me in the farm’s pickup, Denny on the tractor, Katie and Keba on foot, and set about trying to lure/herd the majority of them into the barn. There was a learning curve for Katie and I, having never been part of this stage of the process before, and so our first few attempts were met with failure. Each time the cows slipped past us, they trotted out further into the pasture. Frustration mounted. The task was made more complicated by the fact that there is a stream which bisects the pasture, just at the point where you need to be funneling the herd through the gate which will lead to the barnyard. The ground on either side of the creek is a mire, so crossing it with either the truck or the tractor just isn’t an option. So right when you get the herd just about where you need them, one of the vehicles has to sprint (and I use the term loosely) around to the other side of the creek to finish nudging them into the barnyard.

We also got to meet Surprise! the mule foal. She’s as spirited as she is lanky and adorable!

After several attempts, we managed to get the herd piled up against the creek, and slowly Denny and I urged them forward until they started crossing it. I threw the truck in reverse and started backing up, hoping this time I could get to the creek crossing fast enough to catch the herd on the other side before they doubled back again! But as I crossed the creek, clunked the truck into drive and moved forward, I saw that they had turned around again and were moving to go back from whence they came, across the creek and out into the pasture.

But there was something, nay, someone in their way. Katie, my quiet, unassuming wife, who not so long ago was afraid of getting her new work boots dirty, stood fast in the gap, and yelled with all the authority of an angry mother. She’d found a huge stick, and was holding it over her head, making herself look quite large and intimidating. Her body language said she meant business, and the cows believed it! I’m not sure if they were more scared of her yelling, or surprised that she’d suddenly become so brazen. They all seemed to pause, take a long look at her, and then at me in the truck and then at Denny in the tractor, then back and the noisy one with the big stick in front of them. Then the whole herd, bull and all, shrugged their huge shoulders, turned, and sauntered into the barnyard.

There was much rejoicing.

When we’d successfully penned them all up, we all laughed and congratulated Katie on her new-found cattle handling prowess. She found that big old stick, and it became her talisman, the source of her confidence and power, and everybody saw it work. She came up clutch, and I’m not sure we would’ve gotten the cows into the barn otherwise.

Just another day in the life, at Innisfree on the Stillwater. Always lessons to be learned, and new skills to be discovered.

The now-sorted herd, back out (way, way out) to pasture on an idyllic day.

I managed to scoot out of work today just in time to make it to Katie’s belt ceremony, for the Green Belt she earned on Saturday. It was every bit as cool as the last time, and I’m twice as proud. Proud because she’s progressed so quickly, and proud because she’s met the challenge of her instructors’ expectations with the sort of professionalism and grace that I’ve always known her to embody.

She’s pictured here, just after her promotion, with Mr. Lloyd, the head instructor at the Springfield Mudokwan school. He and the rest of the Lloyd family (who run the school together) are nearly as proud of her as I am!

Katie and I always seem to be teaching each other something. We’re usually pretty good about staying engaged in each others’ interests and activities, a pattern that was developed very early in our relationship. It makes the experience, no matter what we’re doing, that much richer, sharing it with each other, learning from each other, and sharing in the trials and triumphs. We’ve become very effective coaches for each other, I think.

The other night, after our celebration dinner for her tournament, we went out to the garage for a bit, and she taught me some board breaking techniques! She taught me to palm strike, elbow strike and hammer fist, and I broke all three of my boards on the first try. Doesn’t seem like a lot, but it was really cool! I think we’ll be buying quite a lot of pine over the summer.

Today was calf processing day up at the farm. The herd at Innisfree has always been fairly… spirited, but this year they took us a little by surprise. The picture above is Katie and I rounding them up into the barn to be sorted (mamas from calves, which they weren’t terribly pleased about). Also, I swear their bull is Black Angus crossed with Bison. He’s a big boy, and not immune to being a little cantankerous. Traits, it seems, he’s been passing on with increasing potency to his successive generations of progeny.

The herding and sorting went okay, maybe a little better than average. But there was one crazy heifer (I think) who decided she wanted none of the pen we were trying to herd her towards, and gave us her best Disney on Ice impression (complete with triple lutzes), only on a concrete floor slicked with cattle droppings. That should’ve been our first clue, but we forged on.

The first few taggings and one banding went okay, but when we tried to corral one of the larger heifers into the calf table, things got sporty in a big, fast hurry. There are three levers on the calf table that secure the animal and hold them still so you can tip them on their side and do whatever you need to do. I was working two of them, the front gate (which holds their head and neck), and the “squeezer,” while our friend Jamie worked the third. Unfortunately, getting this heifer into the table at all took more than a little doing, and once she was in, she was too strong/crazy/fast for me to get her secured before she nearly tipped the whole contraption over on me.

I mean, I’ve been working out and all, but this was one strong heifer. Maybe I need to start eating grass.

And it was only downhill from there. After more than a few more tries with that (and other) calves, we realized that we were accomplishing little else but putting ourselves in mortal danger, and riling up the little calf herd worse with each successive try. Even some of the smaller calves are 300 pounds or more, and all muscle, and they care not at all for your desire to get them tagged so they can be released back into the pasture. Also they have very large heads, which they aren’t shy about ramming into things, even things that you’re holding. Or you. During one such debacle, Katie found herself in a pose as if holding back the gates of Helm’s Deep, as an angry calf charged and kicked and looked for a way through the blocking gate she was holding.

She held. She’s been working out, too.

During an attempt to separate out a couple of the smallest calves, the largest bull calf decided it was time to take charge of the situation. So he did. Charge. Into my brother. This was one of a few times I was fairly well persuaded he, or I, or both, were going to be spending the rest of the day in the hospital.

We broke for lunch, shaking our heads and laughing while we warmed up and ate pizza. Several of us were battered and bruised (none more so than my brother, for certain), and we were only creating more panic, and further emboldening the bull calf with each attempt. So the unanimous decision was taken to abandon the processing of the remaining calves and sell them off as-is.

We managed one more feat with some creative (and brave) lasso work, dragging the smallest calf out of the pen so she could go back out to the pasture to nurse, but that was all. Such is life on the farm. We like to think we have total mastery of the animals around us, but sometimes you are forced to step back (several steps, as necessary), give them their due respect, and know when everyone’s limit has been reached. On a good day, like today, that happens before we have to call the ambulance.

I’ll say this. I’ve never been happier in my life to be a meat eater. Stupid angry cows…