Sturdy Stock

When you do what you do, it's just doing what you do. Some people humbly accept things about themselves that are extraordinary to many of us. For instance, I heard this story from Teeby, one of two brothers.

Teeby finally got to go away on vacation. If you don't farm, that may not seem like a big deal. It can be. It was for Teeby and, as a consequence, it was for Emby, Teeby's brother.

While Teeby was digging his toes into the snow-white sands on the beach of Florida's panhandle, Emby was minding the farm.  This meant feeding the cattle and waiting for one of the cows to calve. Emby did all his chores, then went to take care of Teeby's. And there it was. The cow had calved. Emby went into the stall to feed the cow and to check on the calf.

Before I continue, you should know that cattle are a lot like people you may have encountered. Some are unattractive and some are quite comely. Some are well-dispositioned and some are, well, squirrelly is a term I've heard used. And sometimes the blessings from the Almighty are not visited twice upon the same individual. For instance, you may find that the plain-looking are the beneficiaries of great wisdom or common sense, while the stunningly attractive are bereft of both. Such is the case with cattle.

One cow's abnormally passionate nurturing instinct was nearly Emby's undoing when he stepped between the calf and the mother. She went nuts. The rest of it was kind of a blur to Emby, and thus to Teeby, so you can imagine how much detail I can offer. Suffice it to say that the result was a panting, emotionally overwrought cow, a bruised, aching Emby with a torqued back and at least one broken rib, and sadly a trampled, lifeless calf.

Teeby returned home to a large hole in the ground covered by freshly turned earth and a brother none too pleased with him or his cow.

"Well, that's a shame," you might say. "But what does it have to do with sturdy stock?"

I met Teeby and Emby a week later to celebrate adding 250 bales of hay to the collection already in the hayloft. The snag was that we couldn't celebrate until we put them there.

Emby stayed below for round one. One-by-one he threw the contents of one wagonload of hay onto the spikes of the elevator and the long chain pulled the gears until the bales slid into the hayloft. Teeby and I stacked. So far so good. Two guys who exited high school before Jimmy Carter left office stacked bales while Teeby's older brother stayed below and unloaded a wagonload of hay by himself.

For round two we switched. Teeby took over unloading duties. Emby and I were in the hayloft receiving while Teeby tossed 60-lb bales through the tiny window like it was nothing. In fact, Emby and I had a hard time keeping up. We told Teeby we were pacing ourselves so he would get rest breaks. We lied.

Finally, we got the second wagon unloaded and convened at the well. Emby and Teeby have a well outside the barn with some of the coolest, finest spring water to be had. It tastes good before the work begins, but it is a splendid libation and a bracing sponge bath when the work is complete. After drinking, dousing, and de-dusting ourselves, we called it a day. That meant that, for me, it was a day. For them, it was one more chore marked off the list, with quite a few to follow.

Three men. Two wagons. One broken rib and a sore back. Sturdy stock, I tell you. These farmers are made of sturdy stock.