06/27/2026
I’m a fair-weather farmer. There’s a rule on our farm: if they’re named, they’re not allowed to die.
Yesterday, that rule was heartbreakingly broken.
We don’t often share the hard parts of farming. Mostly because I tend to chase joy, and sharing heartache somehow makes it feel even heavier.
Yesterday we lost our Highland cross heifer, Mooana. She was fine one minute, and then she wasn’t.
Thankfully, we have two bottle calves at the moment, and one of them, Turkey, is in the hopeful transition of being accepted by Big Bertha.
You might notice Turkey is wearing Mooana’s hide, secured with binder twine (the duct tape of the farm).
With a little help, Big Bertha smells her calf in the hide Turkey wears like a sweater and allows Turkey to nurse as though she were her own. It’s a race against the heat and the flies, but we’re grateful for the rain this weekend, which should help Big Bertha through both the loss of her calf and the gain of a Turkey that moos.
I’m someone who tries to find the good, even on the hardest days, and we always strive to do our best with what’s in front of us.
This time, our best means giving an orphaned calf a new mama, and giving a grieving mother a purpose to pour all that love into. The weather is on our side, and both cow and calf are gentle, making this difficult transition as calm and safe as possible.
Farming is full of joy, but sometimes it asks a lot of your heart. Today we’re grieving Mooana, while also hoping this small act of care gives both Big Bertha and Turkey the chance they deserve.
