Calving Season

When I was growing up, I looked forward to the spring months of April and May; it was calving season. The cows calved on the hills on a half section of pasture north of our buildings. Dad checked the cows twice a day on horseback. His lariat and a few small calving supplies were part of his gear. I was so excited to get to ride with him on occasion. As we saddled up and headed north, Dad would always light a smoke. He looked like the “Marlboro Man”. It was generally cool and wet in April and in places, the sod would squish under the horses’ hooves as we rode. I loved that sound. Following the lay of the land, in various low spots there were shallow pools of water, clear to the bottom formed from the spring melt. They would soon disappear as the warming Mother earth absorbed every drop thirsty from her long winter nap. The cows would drink some of the clear puddles too. They were happy not to have to walk far to get water.

We made our slow circuit of the pasture, checking carefully on any cow lying down and scanning groups of cattle as they fed together. The herd was used to our presence; heads would lift briefly as we approached a fleeting glance to confirm we were no threat, before dropping back to the business of feeding. Cows are resourceful finding hiding places. The bush would be our first search, but it was not unusual to be surprised by a calf lying flat in the middle of buckbrush. Otherwise, the cows would calve in wide open spaces under the open prairie sky. Calving ease remarkably increases in warmer weather. I do, however, remember Dad having to assist the odd one. Dad’s horse was an old hand at the springtime routine, hardly flinching if a wobbly newborn calf needed a lift across the saddle.

If Dad had to work on a calf, he would put the calf between himself and the cow so she could always see the calf. He knew which cows were likely to be testy during calving and gave them the respect they deserved and the space they needed. After all, they were a huge portion of our livelihood, and we wanted to come home safe at the end of the day! We would have a cattle processing day in June where we gathered to work with our family and neighbours at the corrals. Great memories!

A generation later, our calving season changed from April to January. We raised purebred Black Angus and sold yearling bulls. We were called Wildmere Black Diamonds. The cattle were brought into the corrals at the end of December. We had “dust to dawn” barnyard lights that lit our way on those long nights of darkness checking cows. Because of the cold weather, we checked every two hours. My shift ended at 1 a.m. I didn’t necessarily “love” tripping over frozen cow turds and checking the ladies in the quiet of the cold nights, but I did love calving season. I loved the combination smell of the cows and the fresh straw. On a cold night, those jet-black ladies in bright yellow straw enhanced in an angelic mist rising upward from their breath in the cold temperatures which gave a mystical appearance. My favourite part of calving season was of course, the baby calves, and when they got their legs under them, in the daytime they would run circles and buck and play with each other all around the barnyard causing their mama’s anxiety trying to keep up to them. After a while it was “meh” and they’d simply watch them go. Baby calves loved the fresh straw and not only raced through it but often times you would see their little heads peeking out of the cozy bed they made for themselves.

It is calving time in Alberta, I am no longer calving cows, it is the next generations turn. Good luck!