Death on a Family Farm: Part 2
This is a two part series by Heather Walters, proprietor of Rosemont Century Farm, a sustainable farm in Oregon. The first part was published yesterday.
Christmas finally arrived and the only thing remarkable about it was that we were all still snowed in at our respective houses and my goats were still hungry.
My dad spent his day clearing snow from the “blue tarp hotel” and making the goats comfortable. We spent our Christmas day with a stir-crazy 2 year old, no tree, no gifts and a belly full of guilt over the plight of our animals.
Oregon had come to a screeching halt under the weight of a freak once-a-generation snowstorm. No freight or groceries made it in and nothing made it out. It was as if someone had simply switched the world to ‘off’.
I must have called my parents ten times a day during the 2 weeks the snow was on the ground. There were times when the power went out at the farm that my imagination got the best of me. All I could do was pace and worry until the power and phone lines were restored.
By New Year’s Eve we had still not been able to make it back to the farm, but my dad had picked up a bunch of hay at the local feed store and the goats were all still alive so things seemed to be looking up.
The blue tarp hotel was another matter altogether; as the snow began to melt and the pasture flooded – my dad called to let me know that it was a fetid mess. The inside walls of the shelter were sweating from goat breath and stable gasses.
I was on google reading about goats and their shelter needs before my dad had even finished explaining himself…
One word stuck out in my mind: Pneumonia.
Of course being so far from the farm I had no idea what was really going out there so I assumed the worst. I gave my dad every possible scenario over the phone – watch for coughing, watch for goats separating themselves from the herd, etc – etc.
So, I was not surprised when my dad called me late that evening saying that the spotted doe, Dotty, had separated herself from the herd and was standing with her head hung low and making odd noises. He made her a nest in the corner of the garage and left her with food and water for the night.
The snow had finally melted to a point where we could risk a drive out the next morning; so I stopped at Target and bought children’s Benadryl, aspirin, and liquid vitamin B for the pneumonia victim.
Over an hour later I finally arrived at the farm and promptly rolled the garage door up to see how Dotty was. What greeted me was a surprise I was not ready for – she had given birth overnight. The goat kid was lying on the cement garage floor, just off the edge of the fluffy straw nest. It was dead. It died struggling to leave the sack – alone on that cold floor.
Dotty wouldn’t let me touch her – she just hung back, head down in the corner.
So I picked up the first animal born to Rosemont Century Farm and took him to the orchard to bury him under a tree where his bones could feed the spring growth.
The soil was completely waterlogged and the only shovel I could find was a flat blade shovel so digging his grave took forever.
I’m glad it was raining because I didn’t want anyone to see my tears.
Heather, if you ever decide to quit farming (and do not do this, please), you have a second life as a writer. Lovely post that really highlights the love and respect farmers have for their livestock. I cannot wait to do an artisan pork tasting that includes your hazelnut finished pigs.
Ha! Thanks Carrie, you're sweet
I am excited to try my pork too!
A dear friend of mine lost both her cow and calf the other day…I'll be sending her to your piece, Heather. You really capture what life and death are like on a farm. Beautiful, and I was crying by the end. Love you to bits, sweetie!
Thanks Stacie. It was an awful few months…stay tuned, I have more coming…
This is heartbreaking to read and I certainly feel your pain. I pray for all of you that this was a good lesson and you have moved on from it. Best of luck.
Death (and dealing with guilt) is part of the life cycle, yes? Thank you for embracing it and for sharing so powerfully, Heather.
Blessings…