The decision has been made, and a deep sadness permeates everything.
There are visions of what life will be, how life will feel. Emptiness.
The last headlock clanks, and the pump stops. Silence fills every space on the farm.
A final cow is loaded, and the truck and trailer head down the laneway and out the gate.
It’s over.
The feed wagon will sit idle, and the birds will pick their way through the leftovers in the bunk.
The last tank of milk has been shipped, and the manure left in the barn has started to dry.
The heart of the farm is gone.
Sand in the free stalls is still indented from its last occupant, and the birds flit in and out of the vacant barn. A half-eaten flake of hay and dust skimmed water bucket still sit in the sick pen.
A time-standing rhythm is no-longer, and nothing seems right.
No one understands, like a dairy farmer.
There are no chores to get up for or cow to treat. There are no kittens hovering in the milkhouse for the fresh pan of warm milk.
One old tractor warily waits as the weeds underneath grow up into the motor. It will not move again.
Summer mornings don’t seem as sweet, nor the golden sunsets as well-earned.
Life has changed, and we mourn.
No one understands like a dairy farmer.
The tears bubble over this week as another barn will stand vacant and lifeless.
Why is change so hard? Why does it hurt so much?
We mourn for the loss of structure and order and, most of all, connection.
A connection to the rhythm of life. It’s living every day with gods creatures, and Mother Nature.
Farming.
No one understands, like a dairy farmer.
With the deepest love and sympathy,
Kate
0
