Grit & Compassion: It’s Calving Season in Iowa
The grit and compassion of the American farmer and rancher can be felt in the heartbeat of the heartland. It manifests itself in many different ways. This week, I was reminded of this firsthand when I tagged along with one of my favorite Iowa cattle farmers, my brother-in-law Drew.
One thing is for sure: there’s no rest for the weary when it comes to calving season in Iowa.
“When weather comes in, you are up all night long, and up all day long, I catch a 10-minute nap three to four times a day and keep on rolling. This time of the year is the most critical to ensure all calves get off to a good start, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make that happen.”
Drew quietly goes about his chores and checks, observing the slightest details about the cows in the pen about 120 feet away. You can’t simply glance-and-walk-away. Instead, he stays perched on a fence until he notices something obvious.
“I see feet. She will go soon.”
“She needs a little more time,” he says. There’s plenty of ground to cover and new babies to see so we hop in the “calving rig,” a late-model Jeep, to check on the rest of the herd.
Drew’s preference would be to ride horseback through cattle. But the vehicle is warm and equipped with all the necessary tools to assess the newborn calf’s health. It also protects Drew in case a cow doesn’t want him putting the identification tag in the calf’s ear or administering its vitamin shot.
“Ninety-nine percent of the time, the cow is just fine with me tending to her calf. I make sure she can see it, and the immediate care I give takes a very brief amount of time. If she doesn’t take as kindly to it, I scoop up the calf, and bring it into the vehicle where it is warm and take care of its newborn needs.”
We come across a little baldy calf, tucked out of the piercing wind. You could see his mama off in the distance, grabbing a snack. She watched us intently. Drew checked to make sure that the calf was well.
“His nose is warm, he just got done eating,” he adds.
This white-faced calf’s mama was headed our way, and it was time to return to the lot where the new calf would make its debut. As luck would have it, the calf had arrived. I stepped up to the fence to get a closer look and was blocked by some other cows that provided a nice wind break for the newborn. He was silver, a cross between a Black Angus cow and a Charolais bull.
“This type of mating is more popular out west than it is here. Here in Iowa, people like black cattle, so this is a little different. But I appreciate it; the calves are strong, thanks to their genetics,” Drew says.
As we waited for the cow to clean the silver calf and for him to find his legs and nurse for the first time, I observed Drew studying every animal in the pasture. He was methodical and reflective.
“Every one of them is important. Every one of them means dinner on the table for my family, a way to make a living. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure they are comfortable, healthy and well cared for. It’s my job. I’m proud to do it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not everyone is cut out for this job, but I think I am.”
Soon the calf is up nursing for the first time and once he was through, it was time to move. Drew scoops him up and walks to the barn, with the cow joining her new baby. Once the calf is safely tucked away in the barn with his mom, Drew pens an ear tag for the newborn.