Our daughter’s softball team did well this past season and ended it contending for the regional championship. Wouldn’t you know, our girls had to butt heads again with Wausau Newman for the title.
This team has bumped us out of the next level of play a number of years, in different sports. It’s maddeningly frustrating as they are a parochial school and have an elite group of young ladies pulled from different parts of the state, making up a “dream team” so to speak. (Drop it, Kay.)
At any rate, the day came and we were to play at 4 p.m. Earlier in the day, our daughter let us know that the game was inexplicably shoved up two hours, to begin at 2 p.m. instead of 4 p.m., as originally scheduled.
We were frustrated here at the farm, as we had a milker lined up, our day was planned quite far in advance, and we now had to rearrange our schedule to accommodate Newman. It turned out they had graduation at 6, so their girls and families wanted to be home in time. Understandable, but they did not know this fact before the very day of the contest? I questioned that at the time in my mind, but let it go as I had no other recourse!
We discussed the situation, and my husband suggested we keep our milker, feed cows and let them in a bit earlier than usual and after the game go out for an early supper. Music to my ears.
Quickly finishing mowing the lawn just after noon that day, I went out to help my husband get cows in around 12:45. He had finished loading their feed in the bunk, had fed them grain and had fed the heifers, all earlier than usual, but doable.
I went out to the cow yard to round up the cows. They took one look at me and thought, “What? What on earth are you doing out here now?” Jolted off, spooked, running with their tails flying, ears back, snorting. Presently stopping for breath, nostrils flaring, they looked at me like I was an alien from outer space.
I walked, I called, I chased. I tried everything. They ran, literally ran, from one end of the really big cow yard to the other like I was trying to kill them instead of just round them up to go up the ramp like they do twice a day, every single day of their lives. Being creatures of habit, they did not know what in the world I wanted them to do just a few hours before they would have done it routinely, willingly and in single file, without jostling.
My husband was waiting inside to direct them into their stalls, and poked his head out the barn door to see what was holding me up. I hollered, “They are just running from one end to the other!” I had a sinking feeling this was not going to work.
He came out and called to them calmly, trying to maintain a semblance of order. They took one look at him and again bolted to the far ends of the earth. One group went this way, one group went that way. It was madness. Finally we gave up. We had to leave them outside and get ready for the game or we’d miss the whole thing attending a rodeo at the farm.
I came to the game, therefore, with a chip on my shoulder, as now our day was rearranged completely. We called our milker, telling him sorry we would not need him that night, and on top of that, I had to make supper at home. Huge bummer.
The real disappointment was that Newman, again, beat us out of a regional championship. After reporting the defeat to my son, he texted back, “Mom, if you’d beat them once you wouldn’t dislike them so much!” True that, son.
All of this happened weeks ago, graduation has taken place, our daughter’s party went well and we are enjoying the fellowship of attending other graduation parties. Good life goes on, Newman or no Newman.
(“Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead.” Philippians 3:13)
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