I mentioned yesterday that I was feeling out of sorts and intended to go out for some fresh air and exercise. I headed for the hill, where I sometimes walk; the theory is that the uphill trudge is good for my heart, although who knows. When I left the house I actually looked right at the camera, my old X-T1 and the fast 35mm lens for it, and thought, should I take that?
I swear I had just this exact thought: I always see something good up on the hill.
But I only took the phone, the real purpose of which is so I can call somebody if I keel over with the apoplexy from hill-climbing, at my age. It was a beautiful evening, high 40s (about 8 degrees for those of you in civilization) and clear as can be. A nearly full moon risen against the still-blue sky, and gorgeous, delicate clouds. A dissipating contrail rose like a plume from where the road met the horizon.
As I was passing my friend Honeybee Dave's western pasture, I noticed a young cow who's solid brown—how now, brown cow? All the rest are black and white. Further up the hill I spied Dave himself, up by his barn on a higher knoll, turning hay in a bale feeder, so I headed off the road along his fencerow toward him. I hailed him and waved.
When I got closer I said, "I see you've got a youngster in the lower pasture who's brown."
"A youngster," he answered. "You want to see some real youngsters?"
"You've got a new one?"
"Two new ones," he answered, "Three days old. I'll show you."
His Daisy had thrown twins, turned out. Her third time as a mother. "I didn't see it coming," he said. His first clue should have been when she "blew two bubbles," as he put it, meaning her water broke twice. The second birth was a near-run thing. The two youngsters are Hope and Moses, and Moses, the male, spent too much time in the birth canal, and came out not breathing. Dave himself gave the newborn calf his first breath, and then he and his friend Pam, who was helping, had to keep Moses "roughed up and agitated"—up and moving—for the first two hours of his life while his lungs cleared.
Moses and Hope. At three days old they're about the size
of St. Bernard dogs, and soft to the touch.
Daisy trusts Dave so much that she didn't even have to be haltered and tied during the whole birthing procedure. She just stood for him.
The calves, too, are laid-back as can be, not skittish at all. Hope came right over to me and stood while I patted her head and skritched behind her ears. They played un-selfconsciously in their pen, relaxed as can be.
Hope at age 30 seconds. Taken by Dave right before
all the commotion with Moses began.
Was I ever feeling sheepish, though. I just got accused by a reader of not being a photographer, and there I was taking pictures in the shady barn with a phone. Dang. We need to talk about this thing where you leave your camera behind because you kinda have a camera on you. But more about that at a later time.
Seeing the calves restored my spirits—"made my day," as the saying goes. As Dave and I were talking outdoors, while he worked at the bale feeder, a magnificent sleek raptor came by, flying low and steady. Dave didn't have his glasses on but he thought it was bird called a harrier. A moment later its mate followed across the tops of the trees, against the clouds and the lowering sun. Dave has a thing about raptors, and he lives in the right place, because there are a lot of them around here.
As I started back down the hill, having taken my leave of Dave and his cows, the sun setting behind the high ridge of the bluff across the lake, I saw three deer running stiff-legged along the tree line at the back of a fallow pasture, the smallest one kicking its heels up. It was that kind of evening, when you feel glad to be alive.
Moses, who is fine now, is a handsome young fellow, with a
distinctive white face. The tip of his tail is white too.
"Want to know why I named him 'Moses'?" Honeybee Dave asked. "I'm going to call him 'Mo.'" He paused and then with a peal of a laugh said, "There was one Mo!"
Mike
P.S. Did you notice the lens flare in the first shot? A faint echo diametrically opposite the bright sunlight coming through the slats, on Moses' leg and below it.
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Featured Comments from:
hugh crawford: "Holstein with maybe some Jersey?
"Cows are pretty stoic about calving. Goats, on the other hand, go completely bonkers. My grandmother used to bring her Sunday school class out to the farm to watch cows calving, because it made sense to her I guess.
The first time one of our goats had a kid, she had her Sunday school girls out to watch, and it was a huge hullabaloo. She called the large animal vet, who said, '...so is she acting like she’s having a seizure or is it more of a possessed-by-demons kind of thing?' and without pausing added, 'they’re like that.'
"That evening my mother asked my grandmother how things went, and she said, 'I don't think they'll even have boyfriends.'"
James: "Re 'I always see something good up on the hill.' OK, so from now on why don't you make a regular point of... a.) going up the hill for your health and b.) taking a camera with you for TOP's health?"
Kenneth Wajda: "Speaking for myself, I am unable to go anywhere without bringing a camera, I can’t leave the house or step out the door for a walk without one. I guess it's just years of repetition. I'm a firm believer that inspiration exists but it has to find you working.
"A year ago I was in a small town at sunset and thought, there is nobody out; it's not going to be good for anything; I should just go home. But then I decided to walk the alleys between the houses and I ended up with photographs that I love that I never would’ve gotten except that I showed up. Taking the camera brings the photo opportunity for you."
James: "Re 'Was I ever feeling sheepish, though.' In a post about cows. Thanks for that, Mike. ;-) "
Mike replies: :-)
RubyT: "This reminded me of last summer. My family had arrived at our motel in Wisconsin, where we would meet with my stepdaughter and grandkids to see Cave of the Mounds. My daughters and I decided to walk next door to Walgreens for the heating pad I'd forgotten to pack. I thought to myself 'there is no chance I will need a camera for Walgreens.' We ran into a herpetologist who was exercising his snakes, many of which we got to hold, and there I was with only my phone."
Mike replies: Oh, ouch. That's certainly something you can't go back for another time.
Sometimes I get the 'umbrella effect' too, when I think that taking my camera causes all the picture opportunities to disappear. (Like, when you take your umbrella, it doesn't rain.) I guess having a camera with you all the time irons out both effects.
Keith Mitchell: "I'm still haunted by the time I left my camera behind when living in Vancouver Canada in 2008. A mother Skunk and her half dozen very young offspring trailed along a wall In front of me when I was out walking. In my family I famously always have a camera with me. Here I am in my home town of Perth Australia, in isolation, still pondering a lost opportunity 12 years later."
Sara Piazza: "The best thing I've done for myself in a long while is picking up a little Lumix LX100 Mark II. It is with me at all times. It is very handy and has all of the professional bells and whistles. It took me awhile to learn all of the settings and knobs and dials and at first it seemed quite a bit like flying a jet plane or maybe flying a jet plane would have been easier, but I love the little thing. For the first time in a long time I feel as though I have a camera that is a true extension of myself, and so much better than the phone (and I have great phone/camera). Yes, I still get the big cameras and lenses out every now and then but the Lumix is always on my hip. Sara on the Vineyard."
Mike replies: I was just looking at that very thing last night! What was the tiny Panasonic that they made a while back? Couldn't find that one.