1.16.22
Intuition. It is a nebulous thing. Animals definitely possess it and I know we humans do too. You know the feeling, that sensation one gets in the pit of one’s stomach that signals something is amiss or about to happen, often moments before the actual event happens? Intuition is a marvelous thing and not something to be taken lightly or nonchalantly shrugged off. As I have said so many times, “Listen to you belly!” Oh, and I don’t mean the grumbling that signals hunger, although that is worth listening too as well!
There have been so many times on the farm when intuition has saved the day but then again, times when I have neglected to heed those belly suggestions, much to my chagrin. So nowadays, I tend to act on what my belly is recommending rather than talk myself out of it. Last night, just after mid-night to be exact, my belly woke me up with the suggestion I head down to the pig farrowing house to check on my gilt who is due to pig any day now. Repeatedly turning over and over in bed I tried to settle, to talk myself out of getting up. In bed, snuggled up against Darrell, I was so warm and toasty. Outside, it would be a frosty, chilly, below freezing night. She would be okay I told myself, she is not due for a couple of days yet. However, the more I tried to fall asleep, the wider awake I became. As a rule, right before one of my girls farrows, I close the door between their stall and outside run. This prevents drafts and more importantly, it prevents newborn piglets from inadvertently falling over the threshold and getting lost outside. Not a good thing with the temperatures we have right now, and, I had not closed that door before going to bed.
Finally, I gave in. Slipping out of bed I grabbed my fluffies and a wooly jumper, heading into the living room to quickly dress and pull on my warm barn coat and trusty woolen hat, grabbing a pair of gloves as I headed out the door. What a magical sight greeted me as I stepped off the deck and started my way down the driveway towards the barn. The moon was bright and the sky full of stars. With our ground still being covered by several inches of snow, I had no need of a torch to light my way. The moon shone down brightly; the snow glistened as if embedded with millions of diamonds. Underfoot, the new layer of frost crunched with each step I took. It was wonderful!
As I walked past the barn and made my way down the hill towards the farrowing house, careful not to fall on the somewhat slippery slope, the milk cows rose expectantly from their beds. “Hey girls, it’s a bit too early for milking!” I said as reaching the farrowing house I pushed open the door, listening for the satisfied low grunts of a sow nursing babies. It was dead quiet as I walked to the Dutch doors of the stall. As I opened the top door and peeked inside, Hermione raised up and looked at me, stretching her nose to sniff my hand as I reached down to scratch behind her ears. No babies in sight. Opening the lower door, I went in with her, rubbing her belly and gently squeezing a couple of her teats but no milk showed. Not time yet. After another scratch behind her ears, I left the stall, turning off the light and closing all the doors before heading back up the hill to the house, glad I had come down to check on her. I would have felt terrible had I ignored the feeling in my belly, only to discover half frozen piglets when I came down to milk Heidi later that morning.
Have there been times when I have ignored my belly? Oh yes, and sometimes the results have not been pretty. Like the time one of our milk cows had a calf and I ignored my belly. A couple of days after she dropped her calf, Darrell and I decided to make a day trip to Bend. Mum and baby were doing fine yet my belly was uneasy. As we headed out past the corral where she was munching contentedly on a pile of hay, calf laying curled up beside her, I almost decided we should stay home. For some reason, I had this niggling feeling she was not through calving, that there might be another calf, a twin, inside her still. “Oh, she is fine!” I told myself, ignoring the growing feeling in my midriff. “We could stay, and I could pop a quick arm in her to see if there is another baby in there.” My inner mind said. “No, she’s fine!” the other voice argued. So off to Bend we went, me firmly trying to quash my apprehension. I should have listened to my belly for upon our arrival home, there was my lovely cow, flat on her side, a few breaths from death. We were too late to save her. Yes, she did have another calf inside her – I found that out postmortem! It obviously had been dead for quite a while, possibly even before her other calf had been born. I was filled with guilt… if only I had stayed home… if only I had listened to my belly and taken the time to run her in the cattle chute and check her. If only…
Reaching the front door of the house, I turned for a moment and looked back out over the moonlit fields. All was quiet and still. The stars twinkled at me, the cold nipping at my cheeks. Entering the warm house, I shed my hat and coat and made my way back to bed. Climbing back under the covers I snuggled up to Darrell, now quite ready to fall asleep. My belly was at rest, knowing all was well on the farm.
