Saving calves during Winter Storm Wesley two weeks ago required a family effort.

            What began as an ideal calving season transformed into a determined effort to save as many calves as possible.

            As the massive April storm approached, my husband, Keith, made preparations to shelter scores of black Angus calves already on the ground, and he readied the barn for the new babies that would unluckily take their first breath during the angry tempest of sleet, thunder snow, freezing rain, and 50 mph winds.

            Within two days of Wesley’s appearance, the barn overflowed with new sets of mothers and calves. Wesley eventually moved on, but left a half-frozen, soggy, muddy mess in its wake. My sleep-deprived husband maintained a constant vigil in the calving pasture, scooping newborns into the John Deere gator and coaxing their mothers to follow him to the barn.

            One particular pass through the pasture, however, revealed three babes in peril. Their mothers had simultaneously birthed them in isolated low areas of deep mud. Past the help of the calf warming box, Keith grabbed a small water tank and placed the two heifers and one bull inside as it filled with hot water. With one hand I held the bull calf’s head above the surface, and with the other I rubbed the life back into his body. “You will survive,” I ordered him. He was beautiful, perfectly formed, but barely alive. I talked to my little bull. Prayed over him. Willed him to live.

            After a few minutes, he turned his head to look at me, kicked his legs a bit, and bawled softly. My heart leapt at these perceived signs of revival. Then he stopped breathing. His effort to bawl was not a show of recovery, but a death cry. Within seconds, the corneas of his translucent black eyes turned a cloudy white. He was gone.

            I looked up to see my husband and daughter working on warming up the heifers. My older son fetched supplies while my younger son watched over my shoulder. From our various activities, we had come together in an instant to care for our animals. Just like the generations before us.

            Operating a farm is more than running a business. It’s a shared experience that uniquely bonds family members as they continually participate in the rituals of farming life, including the most basic rituals of life and death. Stewarding the land and caring for its creatures keeps us close to the earth and instills an appreciation for life as well as for meaningful work. Challenges abound in today’s agricultural economy, but hope endures when generations work together to create positive solutions for themselves and their customers. A farm is, after all, more than its profits; it’s a way of life for the those who are called to love it.

            I’m grateful to report that the two newborn heifer calves survived Winter Storm Wesley and are now frolicking with their mothers in the greening pastures, their perilous entrance into this world forgotten.

            But we won’t forget.