“Have ya seen cattle?” our neighboring farmer greets us at the end of the lane. We’re on our way to get groceries and he’s on a search for his cattle.
He’s farmed these fields for over 50 years and, in any ordinary year, his adjoining field has fertile grass and water for his cows to rotate through and devour. This year’s drought threw it off balance and, much to this farmer’s consternation, his cows have taken up the nomadic life.
We first met when he was repairing a fence line between the field and the creek. That week, his cows decided the grass was too dry and that the best course of action was to topple the barbed fence wire, cross the dry creek, and wander into the forest land across the lane. Quite enterprising of them (I say, from the comfortable distance of one who bore no responsibility for their actions).
This time around I’d heard nearby cows in the early morning. They sounded louder than the two resident ones in the field on the other side of our property usually do. I didn’t think much of it and went back to sleep, though it later turned out to be a helpful clue in the farmer’s cattle caper.
These cows had, once again, popped out of their field for a jaunt through the forest. I guess they liked their earlier taste of freedom. Can’t say I blame them. The hoof marks and cow pies on the lane when we got back from groceries meant our neighbor had found his cows and led them back down to one of his other fields.
The smashed Japanese maple next to our dry stone wall also bore evidence of the cows’ passage. We had thought it an odd place to plant a maple, just off a narrow lane used by farm and forestry vehicles (and, apparently, cattle). Still a beautiful tree, though. It lies in pieces now and gave us a delightful story of how it met its end.
