Christmas through a child's eyes

We decided a few years ago that having a big Christmas tree in the house was just too much trouble.  I bought a little free-standing, pre-decorated tree about three feet tall, and that was fine for us.  Actually at this point I could do without any tree.  Time goes so fast at our ages that it seems we hardly get the tree set out before it's time to put it away.

But then Cora came into our lives, so last year we went out and cut a tree at our favorite Christmas tree farm.  She was a year-and-a-half old, and was fascinated by the glitter and lights, especially the string of lights that alternates with Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse.  She wasn't talking well then, but she did try to say "Minnie Mouse" every time she examined those lights.

In all the time we've had with Cora I am almost speechless at the wonder and amazement a little kid has for the things in this world that are nothing special to us.  We see, through her eyes, all the objects and events to which we have become jaded due to over-exposure, and the universe resumes some of its former glory.

After Thanksgiving this year, I debated about getting a tree again; Cliff refused to voice an opinion.  "Whatever you want to do," he would say.

Well, I didn't want the mess.  I really don't like crowding up the living room, taking one chair away to make room, needles all over the floor (if I'm going to have a tree, it will be a real one).  The tree farm where we get our Christmas trees is only open on weekends, and I figured last Sunday was the time to decide one way or another.  Remembering how Cora enjoyed last year's tree, I decided to go for it.  When we got there, I was stunned by how much a real tree costs these days.

I was equally stunned when Cora's mother brought her in Monday morning and I saw the look on that little girl's face.  "What's that, Donna?" she asked, walking, wide-eyed, to the tree.

getting a closer look at Mickey Mouse

With little children, it's all about the lights, isn't it?  I expected, since Cora is a year older than when we had our last Christmas tree, that she would be gentler with it, but her curiosity is actually greater, and she has wanted to pull ornaments off the tree to examine them.  Most of them are cheap, unbreakable baubles, but of course if you yank them off, they lose their little hangers and are useless.  So this week I have explained to her, many times, that she has to be "easy" with things on the tree, and that she can touch, but she shouldn't pull them off.  It's her tree, we only got it because of her.  I want her to be able to enjoy it.  But I'd like to have a few ornaments left at the end of the season, too.  

Last year I bought her a plastic nativity set, hoping it would keep her from trying to play with mine, which was my mother's and is breakable.  The child was a little young to enjoy it then, but yesterday she must have spent at least half an hour under the tree setting her manger scene up so it would be arranged more like mine.  

That little Santa dressed in white has become her best friend lately.  She dances with him and carries him around the house, although I finally drew the line when she wanted to take him with her every time she went to potty.  He's almost as big as she is, and I was afraid she might not make it to the bathroom in time, dragging him along.

Merry Christmas to all my friends, and may you have a child around to open your eyes to the magic of the season and the world.  God bless us every one.

Root hog or die!

Last year Grace-the-cow raised seven babies for me:  She started with her own baby plus three Holsteins, then I weaned those, sent them to the auction, and bought three Holsteins to replace them.  In all that time, I never actually turned Grace loose with the calves:  I turned them in together twice a day for a half-hour or so, then separated them.  We would have had more freedom to go someplace if I had turned them all out together and left them alone, but I was always afraid one calf or another might not get enough of the five gallons of milk she produced daily.  

This year I made up my mind to let nature take its course.  We planned to go to McPherson, Kansas, for Thanksgiving with my sister, and turning cow and calves together was the best solution.  I will digress here to tell you that the weather turned AWFUL, and freezing rain ensued on Friday when we were supposed to go home.  However, the forecast sounded as though it was "now or never", because it was only supposed to get worse over the next few days.  So we headed out.  Only the first part of the journey was really treacherous.  Once we got to the freeway, Cliff's only concern was watching for people who don't know how to drive in a wintry mix.  The scariest thing we encountered other than a few cars in the ditch was Cliff's yelling at other drivers who couldn't hear him.

Back to the calves:  When we got home I had a look at them.  Their flanks were filled out nicely and they were all relaxed in the shelter of the open-faced shed chewing their cuds.  The next day I checked on them several times.  Sometimes one or two would be nursing, sometimes all of them.  Everyone seemed perfectly happy with their new situation.

I won't be trying to raise a second set of calves on Grace as I did last year.  I'm making it easy on myself.  This seems to be working well, so we can go anywhere we like for as long as we like.  In June or July, I will pull Grace's heifer calf off so she will get a chance to be weaned (and gentled!) before her mother has another calf; the other two can stay with her until it's time to dry her off two months before her calving date, and then they will go to auction.

I won't be milking Grace at any time during this lactation because her milk just is not good.  It has an aftertaste, and tastes about half-sour by the second day in the refrigerator.  I have no idea why this is.  I would have thought perhaps mastitis, but she doesn't have that problem.  This is one reason I so hated to sell Penny... her milk and cream were wonderful!  Freedom, however, sometimes comes with a price, and guess what?  It is possible to buy perfectly good milk, butter, and cream at the grocery store.  I will admit, though, that I miss the regular twice-a-day chores.