Harvesting

Over the weekend, the cows got out at 2 a.m. Saturday. A big bunch of them -- all the black ones, of course -- were runnign down the road in the middle of the night. So as we are driving them through the neighbor's yard and trying to get them back in their pasture, I was noticing the sound of their hooves, how the moon looked golden as its nearly setting, how scary DH looked silhouetted against the night sky.

That was because we had to push them back up a cut-bank they had fallen off as they came through the broken fence. Cows have no depth perception. I think that's why the whole bunch did not get out -- as soon as their herdmates began to drop off the edge of the world they had second thoughts. None of them were hurt. Cattle are remarkably resilient.

We did all this by the light of the moon, camping lanterns, our flashlight with barely any battery left and a lot by ear. Although the neighbors have a three-acre yard they only mow a patch around the house. The rest is, well, a biologist would say something about succession, from grasses to brush to small trees and back to forest.

At 2 a.m., the middle step of that -- brush and small trees -- is hard to thrash through and keep up with running calves.

As we met the neighbors, who came out and tried to help and finished up getting all the cows and calves back in the sheriff showed up. He could have spot-lighted the whole situation but arrived too late.

By the time we got home it was past 4 a.m.

I still had to get up and open the restaurant. Needless to say, I did not cashier any all day -- I was too clumsy and confused to handle money.