Where Life Finds Us

I live for quiet mornings on the farm.

The kind where there’s no long list of errands, no horses waiting to be trimmed, no pressure tugging at me from every direction. Just stillness. Just sunrise and the sounds of the land waking up.

Yesterday turned into one of those rare, blissful mornings. Every appointment and obligation got canceled, and I couldn’t be happier. I finally had a slow morning to share—with the animals, with the land, and with you.

Coffee in hand, I started my usual farm walk: checking on everyone, filling waters, breathing in the day. That’s when I noticed someone was missing.

Sunny—one of our milk cow matriarchs—wasn’t with the rest of the herd.

I scanned the pasture, walked through the girls one by one… but no Sunny.

I’d suspected she might be pregnant, but I wasn’t 100% sure. Our bull had been chasing her just last week, which usually means she’s not bred. And her pendulous old-dairy-cow udder is always a bit of a mystery—one day it’s full and firm, the next it’s slack again. She’s got that classic milk cow belly too, so even when she’s not bred, she looks like she could be. With Sunny, you never really know until you know.

So with her missing from the herd, I started scanning the fields the cows have access to. And there she was—laying quietly by the fence near the road, right out in the open.

And beside her… a little tawny-colored lump.

A calf.

It was an odd place to have a calf—right where anyone driving by could see her. Sunny usually prefers more privacy, a hidden corner or a bit of cover. But this time, she chose the edge of the road, just inside the fence. Maybe it felt safe to her. Maybe she just didn’t feel like walking any farther. Cows have their reasons.

I hustled back to the house to grab my supplies—halter, calcium boluses, the bolus applicator, and iodine. Just the essentials for a fresh calving. Took a moment to text my hoof care client and let them know I wouldn’t be making it today. Some things can wait.

New life can’t.

Then I headed back out, heart full, ready to meet Sunny’s new baby.

As I got closer, I could tell by the feminine shape—we had a little heifer. I lifted her tail to be sure, and yep… a girl.

I gave Sunny a gentle rub and slipped the halter on. She stood calmly, like the seasoned mama she is. I gave her the calcium boluses—cheap insurance for an older cow just fresh. Milk fever can come on fast, and it can kill if you’re not ahead of it. A couple boluses now can mean the difference between life and death later. It’s a small gesture of care, and it matters.

Then I crouched beside the calf and dipped her umbilical cord in iodine to keep infection out. One more little act of stewardship, then I took Sunny’s halter off and stepped back.

Time to let them bond. That first hour or two is sacred.

There’s something about moments like this that put everything back in place. When the world feels too fast, too heavy, too much—life comes quietly anyway. On a patch of dirt by the road. With a cow who’s done this before and a calf who just took her first breath.

This morning was a reminder: not everything has to be rushed. Not every good thing has to be earned by exhaustion. Some blessings just show up quietly, wrapped in warm light and soft breath, waiting to be noticed.

And I’m so glad I did.