Blessed Bovine update

At long last, here they are, updated photos of the pair. Look how nicely they both have filled out. No more ribs showing. Their coats are shiny and glow in the fall sun. Downright purdy, they are.

I've been trying to figure out how to tell the rest of the story. Why I call her the blessed bovine. It's not just because she managed to survive the winter on her own, give birth and care for a healthy calf. It's what she has brought into my life. Warning, I am going to get really sappy here, but it's unavoidable.

I lived here on the farm for five years before Mom moved in, and always thought myself fairly independant. Never got lonely, was never afraid of living alone on the farm. (Which is what most people asked when they found out I lived in the country by myself...aren't you afraid?) Since Mom moved in, now I find myself feeling alone. Not lonely, mind you, just I've never been more aware of how alone I was. No safety net. Isolated. The caregivers out there know what I'm talking about, I'm sure, AD can be very isolating. I've never had someone dependant on me, either. It's downright scary, dammit!

The Blessed Bovine brought the neighbor family whom I had never met into my life. The woman close to my age who I now call a friend, her handy husband who shored up my barn so it won't collapse under the weight of the snow this winter, her strong teen-aged son who needed a service project, and did a lot of work for me as that service project, (and has another for confirmation class, so will be helping me out again!), her daughter who loves animals so now I have an experienced farm sitter when I need one, and her young son who is just so darned funny and always good for a laugh.

Her husband is an electrician and will be doing some work for me this spring. They helped me bury a llama that I lost this summer.

They have haying equipment, I had an empty field but no way to work it. A partnership was born. I bought the seed, they planted it and did all the work. They kept half of the hay we harvested, the other half went into my barn. Here's the all-female haying crew:

If that cow hadn't wandered into my yard, I probably wouldn't have met them. I don't feel alone anymore. I know that they are two minutes away.

"We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over; so in a series of kindnesses there is at last one which makes the heart run over." James Boswell