A Saddleman Trading Homestead Story
By Amberli Emery
When Marmalade was born in the middle of a thunderstorm, I thought perhaps we had already established the theme for this calf’s life.
Apparently not.
Because now we have moved on to fire season.
The forest fires have raged around our part of Montana, and even as crews work to get them under control, the smoke has decided it lives here now.
The jet stream and our general lack of decent airflow through the valley have created what can only be described as a giant outdoor smoker.
Except we are apparently the brisket.
The valley has been buried under smoke, and poor Blossom is miserable.
Her eyes are swollen, watery and irritated. Mine aren’t much better. My nose is running, I’m sneezing, my eyes are watering, and every trip outside feels like Mother Nature personally threw a handful of campfire ash directly into my face.
But Blossom has discovered a solution.
Me.
I am the solution.
More specifically, my legs and thighs.
Blossom walks over, wraps that enormous Guernsey head around me, presses herself against me and begins rubbing those poor swollen, itchy eyes all over my legs.
And she doesn’t just rub.
She commits.
She wraps her head around me and pins me against her body so I cannot move.
I have become a 137-pound, five-foot-three scratching post.
Apparently an extremely effective one.
So there I stand, immobilized by approximately half a ton of itchy dairy cow, while she rubs her face back and forth across me in absolute bliss.
Then comes the sneeze.
Have you ever seen a cow sneeze?
More importantly, have you ever seen a cow sneeze when her nose is irritated from wildfire smoke?
I have.
There are some experiences in homesteading for which no amount of research adequately prepares you.
A Guernsey cow launching an absolutely insane amount of snot from her nose is one of them.
Blossom doesn’t sneeze delicately.
There is no little “achoo.”
It is a full-body, head-shaking,
industrial-strength MOOOO-CHOO, followed by a quantity of cow snot that makes you reconsider every decision that led you to dairy farming.
And then there is Marmalade.
Our sweet little Storm Born baby seems to be handling the smoke considerably better than her mama.
She’s eating. She’s moving around. She’s curious. She’s still very much Marmalade.
Except occasionally…
She coughs.
Have you ever heard a cow cough?
Me either.
Until now.
The first time I heard it, I stopped what I was doing and stared at her.
Did my calf just cough?
Yes.
Yes, she did.
Apparently cows cough.
Who knew?
So now chore time has become quite the production.
Blossom is watering from both eyes and occasionally firing biological projectiles from her nose.
Marmalade periodically coughs.
I am sneezing.
My nose is running.
My eyes are watering.
Blossom needs her face scratched.
I need approximately three additional hands.
And somewhere underneath all of this is the normal list of homestead chores that still need to be done because livestock does not particularly care that the entire valley looks like the inside of Willie Nelson’s tour bus.
Feed still needs hauled.
Water still needs checked.
Animals still need watched.
Blossom still needs milked and cared for.
And Marmalade still needs her mama.
So we keep going.
That’s the part of homesteading that doesn’t make the pretty Instagram pictures.
There are beautiful mornings with calves bouncing through green grass.
There are peaceful evenings in the barn.
There are thunderstorms and miraculous little Storm Born babies standing beside their mothers.
And then there are mornings when you’re standing in wildfire smoke, your eyes are watering, your nose is running, your calf is coughing and a gigantic dairy cow has physically restrained you so she can use your pants to scratch her swollen eyeballs.
Same homestead.
Same beautiful animals.
Just considerably more mucus.
Hopefully the smoke clears soon.
Until then, Blossom has apparently decided that I am her personal emotional-support scratching post.
And judging by the way she wraps that giant head around me and refuses to let me leave…
I don’t think I get a vote.
Leave a Reply