A huge storm blew through New England over the past couple of days, and when I first came upon it, driving back home from west central VT, it was a freezing rain “weather event”. This road seemed OK – it was 36 degrees after all – but when I stopped and got out to take this photo, I nearly took a header. Route 30 over the mountain from Manchester to Bratttleboro was worse, but nothing compared to coming back down Newfane Hill Road, a dirt road that had become a glare sheet of ice in the time I was visiting a friend there. My 2006 Honda Accord was a champ though, the anti-lock brakes and the lowest gear kept me in a safe 1-3 MPH range for most of the 3 mile trip, and there was some traction over on the far right side of the road. The whole VT portion of the trip was stunningly beautiful, if a touch unsuitable for roadside photography.
See post below. This is where the cattle spend the night. They come in one at a time to the immediate left of where I was standing, and go directly to their respective stanchions, actually inserting their heads into the device, at which time John or Bonnie or a hired hand move the lever on the left clockwise to lock them in place. Notice the bedding (lighter) and the feed (darker), and the automated manure removal system. The temperature is probably in the mid 50’s when they come in, and warmer in the morning from all the body heat.
John and I talked about the cattle; he has literally spent all his life with this breed. The one story that I’ve been trying to wrap my head around was in answer to my question about coyotes – whether they ever bother the smaller ones. He said one morning a few years ago, he came into a pasture where about twenty cattle had spent the night, and saw them in a wide circle, heads facing out. It turns out a calf was born in their midst earlier that night, and with hungry coyotes on the scene, the herd had surrounded both mother and calf to protect them.
We are slowly moving towards a deeper understanding of plant and animal intelligence; the recent book “Braiding Sweetgrass” by Robin Wall Kimmerer, will nudge us even further along. She is a Native American botanist who considers plants and animals to be our oldest teachers. It’s a remarkable read, bridging as it does the worlds of myth and science, and as my friend Mike Hamer (who recommended it) said, ” it will bring a few tears to your eyes..”
This was the scene late one afternoon in early January at Maple Breeze Farm, about two hours before dark. The temperature that night was headed toward minus five degrees, before the wind chill. It was about twenty at the time of the photo. The cattle (American Milking Devons) were clearly ready for the shelter of the barn, just out of view on the left.
Though it was only a brief (and unexpected) squall that lasted ten minutes, it was the first time in a few years I have been out walking in a “snow storm”. The light dropped off considerably right before it came through, which should have been a clue to what was coming. Taken with my Samsung Galaxy S4.
A few years ago, I was driving on a lonesome back road deep in northern VT, shortly before sunrise. I came upon a magnificent draft horse standing alone in a hilly pasture, frosty breath streaming from his nostrils. I quickly pulled over and got out of my car. Alas it was too abrupt a change – the car stopping, the door opening, a human – and it seemed to bring him out of an early morning reverie. He turned his head slowly to look at me, and the moment for the photograph in my mind’s eye had passed. I could only apologize for intruding, and interrupting his communion with the beauty and stillness of that early morning.
This photo above of the English Longhorn came much easier, and though the animal is watchful, I was perhaps less an intrusion. It is the equal to the one that formed in my mind’s eye when I first came upon the scene (which I cannot often say).
