Fall Bawls
Late October seems to kinda sneak up on ya.
The heat of the summer breezes away and suddenly the leaves are turning.
The haying is finished, finally.
The cows are home, run through the chute and out on fall grass.
The calves miss their mothers.
The bawling has a lonesome yet welcome tone to it.
Sure they feel abandoned for a day, and they let everybody know about it.
But then they start to bellar when they see you coming with a pitchfork.
Like hungry teenagers after school.
They look forward to ya coming, and so do you. They bring a smile and lightness to your heart.
They stick out their noses till they almost dislocate their necks,
Just for one lick of your glove.
They are slicked off and haired up for the next change that’s coming.
They’re your babies.
Still learning and watching and a little flighty.
But they need you and you need them.
Every fall.
The 2 am heifer’s checks are worth it.
The miles of fence and miles of windrows are worth it.
The scours and dust and flies and loss are worth it.
It all comes together every fall at weaning time.
With every black, wet nose and shiny eye,
With every hoarse bawl and the trust that follows.
The sound of calves is music on the desert.
D.E. Holden
2009
Late October seems to kinda sneak up on ya.
The heat of the summer breezes away and suddenly the leaves are turning.
The haying is finished, finally.
The cows are home, run through the chute and out on fall grass.
The calves miss their mothers.
The bawling has a lonesome yet welcome tone to it.
Sure they feel abandoned for a day, and they let everybody know about it.
But then they start to bellar when they see you coming with a pitchfork.
Like hungry teenagers after school.
They look forward to ya coming, and so do you. They bring a smile and lightness to your heart.
They stick out their noses till they almost dislocate their necks,
Just for one lick of your glove.
They are slicked off and haired up for the next change that’s coming.
They’re your babies.
Still learning and watching and a little flighty.
But they need you and you need them.
Every fall.
The 2 am heifer’s checks are worth it.
The miles of fence and miles of windrows are worth it.
The scours and dust and flies and loss are worth it.
It all comes together every fall at weaning time.
With every black, wet nose and shiny eye,
With every hoarse bawl and the trust that follows.
The sound of calves is music on the desert.
D.E. Holden
2009