“The cows are out!” Four dreaded words a farmer loathes to hear. During the course of our years of dairying we did hear (or holler) those words a time or two.
When we were dairy farming, we bred our cows, keeping the heifer calves to replenish our herd, and selling the bull calves. Once in a while a heifer couldn’t, for one reason or another, get bred. That one would be raised until she could be butchered.
It startled me to slam on my brakes as fast as I could. Looming larger than life next to my car window appeared a small doe, darting out of nowhere as they’re prone to do. Before I had a half-second to even think, she thumped-thumped against the passenger door behind me and limped off the highway, thankfully before any other car hit her.
Taking the Seymour/Pulaski exit off state Highway 29 one morning, I was on my way to a breakfast date, meeting up with two friends I’ve known for 60-plus years. How that happens I’ll never understand, since I myself am only 40-something. Wishful thinking.
Slowing down, I noticed how every field of corn was looking simply magnificent.
Watching sports is one of the things we, as a family, enjoy in our travel through our time on this good earth.
Before I married my farmer husband, however, I knew next to nothing about sports. Farming I knew. Sports? Not so much.
The blue and red lights flashing in my rear view mirror weren’t noticed until I heard a short warning that sounded curiously like a siren. Glancing up, I realized indeed it was a siren. It was for me.
Stopping immediately, I could not imagine what on earth prompted the officer to pull me over. Did I forget to turn my lights on? It was getting dusky. Did I speed through town?
