Early the next morning, my grandma picked up my younger cousins Kael and Jacob from uncle Wes's up the road. They wanted to see me, and always visited grandma for an early lunch while their parents worked during the day. Kael was 13, and Jacob was 10. Both boys were great to be around. They had great manners and awesome senses of humor. They were also very trustworthy.

Unlike many of my maternal cousins, these kids weren't helicopter parented. My uncle Wes pounded the virtue of responsibility in both boys by having them work around the farm and do things under supervision most parents wouldn't even dream of letting their kids doing. 

A week before I arrived at the farm, a storm blew through that snapped a massive tree branch off of one of the oldest oak trees on the farm. Had it been just a few feet longer, that branch would've put a good dent in the roof. Luckily, it didn't take out more than the dinner bell by the front porch. 

My grandma Shirley called my uncle Wes immediately after she discovered it, and he arrived in his pickup truck with a chainsaw and his kids. Wes demonstrated how to properly use the chainsaw, and then let both of his kids try it out, of course under close supervision. Both boys apparently used the chainsaw perfectly, even though it was probably about half their size. Then, Wes and his boys wrapped the logs up in chains, and pulled them out of the driveway and into the farm yard. Since winter was months away, Wes decided to just leave the giant cut branch at grandma's until the first snow. Then, he'll cut the branch even more into fireplace-sized logs to heat his basement with. Until then, according to grandma, it'll just remain a giant eyesore in the yard. 

I spent more time eating lunch than Kael and Jacob did. So they ran around outside while I stuffed my face with the rest of my roast beef sandwich from Subway. All of the sudden, just as I was finished with the last bite, Jacob burst through the front door shouting, "There's a dead calf in the yard! There's a dead calf in the yard!"

"What?!" I yelled. 

"There's a dead calf outside! It's by the shed!" Jacob repeated himself. 

"Alright! I'll go out there! Tell grandma!" I instructed him while I got up from the table and rushed outside to see what Jacob was so frantic about. 

Outside by the pole shed, I saw Kael pacing up and down the fence, staring into the cattle yard just outside the pole shed. 

"You're brother told me there's a dead calf?!" I called to Kael. 

"Yeah. It's right there." Kael pointed. 

Sure enough, sprawled out in the sun was a little black calf. I stared at it for a moment. I couldn't tell if it was breathing or not. It was too far away. 

In the shade of the pole shed, I spotted mama cow. She had very clearly just given birth to a calf. In fact, she was eating the placenta which I assumed she pulled off the calf that laid still in the hot sun. Perhaps if she stuck around long enough to clean the little thing, maybe she fed it too and just "hid" it out there. But, something was very off. I knew cows often leave their calves to sleep after giving birth, but normally mama cows leave their calves actually hidden somewhere, like by a bush or under a trough. That calf was just laying in the middle of the yard, completely exposed and sprawled out rather than curled into a tight little ball.  

I decided to shoot Troy a few texts. After all, these were his cattle. He ought to know right away whenever one of his cows gave birth, especially since it was so late in the year. Most cows give birth in April and May. This was an August calf. But, just as I was preparing to send him a text, Kael squealed with excitement as the little calf started to stir. 

"It's alive! It's actually alive!" Kael shouted as he jumped up and down, just as Jacob was sprinting ahead of grandma towards us. 

"Son of a bitch, it is." I mumbled under my breath. 

The little guy reacted to Kael's voice and perked its little ears up at us. It seemed aware and healthy. I still sent Troy a text though, announcing that he had a new little calf. I also mentioned that something didn't seem right. Mama cow wasn't as attentive as I thought she should've been.

"Oh yeah, mom cows do that sometimes." Troy replied in a text back to me, "Don't go into the pen at first. Just because she isn't near it doesn't mean she isn't watching. Mom will be protective for a few hours. Hopefully the calf gets up and starts eating. If it hasn't gotten up yet, chances are it hasn't been fed. Just keep an eye out for it. I'll get there as soon as I finish work."

In the meantime, I decided I'd get my dirtbike running. There wasn't anything I could do for that calf. As much as I wanted to go over there and carry it into the shade, I knew mama was watching me. Like Troy said, if I tried getting anywhere near her calf, mama cow was probably gonna throw my ass a good 10 feet into the air and trample me down for good measure. So, I told the boys what Troy told me, and they nodded in agreement. 

But, before any of us could head back to the house, we watched as the little calf struggled to stand. It managed to get its back legs off the ground, but it couldn't unfold its front legs to stand up. It was shaking as it tried. After a few minutes, it appeared to give up. Instead, it was just changing strategies. Instead of getting up ass first, why not try getting up head first? Maybe it just needed to get its little front legs unfolded before it could carry the weight of its back legs as well.

Clearly, that little calf was giving it all it had, but he just couldn't stand. We watched it for a few minutes as it tried to stand up using every strategy it could think of. It even called for its mom with a pitiful, gurgly moo, but she didn't respond. Neither did any of the other cows that were nearby in the shed. They didn't seem to even notice the little guy, because they were paying attention to something going on in the shed. I got curious, and while grandma led the boys back to the farmhouse, I walked into the pole shed by the straw bales to try and see what the other cows were so interested in. 

At first, I couldn't see anything. There were just too many cows. I rattled the gate to make a little noise, spooking the cows nearest to me away so I could see what they were so interested in. There, laying in the middle of the pole shed was a second calf that had just been born. Mama was eating the placenta off it so it could breathe. It was the same cow who gave birth to the calf outside. 

She was a very large cow. Even when she wasn't pregnant, she stood taller and wider than all of the other cows. In fact, she was so big even after giving birth to twins, I wondered if she was pregnant with a third calf. She still had parts of a placenta hanging out of her behind. That isn't very rare. However, it could mean she still had another calf that she had yet to give birth to. Her back was also rounded, which to me, meant she was still pushing. Instead of getting on my dirtbike, I sat down on a straw bale and texted Troy some more, letting him know mama cow just had another calf and still looked like she might have a third one on the way. 

He couldn't believe it. So, I sent him a picture of the whole scene, and I'd like to imagine he about fell over. Twin calves are extremely rare. And, if mama were to have a third calf, that was national news material! Troy told me to keep an eye on everything, but still refrain from going into the pen until he arrived.

Mama had her hands full, and was probably still in pain and very stressed out. It wasn't going to take much to piss her off. In fact, I was risking it just by standing by the gate. A bent rusty gate and flimsy wire fence weren't going to save me from what looked to be a 1,200 pound animal. If mama charged, that fence was going to be as effective protecting me from her as a glass house in a hail storm, so I figured I could climb up the straw bales to the rafters in the shed and be safe from her rampage. Unlike me, she was way too big to squeeze between the bales and the rafters.

I sat on a straw bale and just watched for nearly an hour. After cleaning her calf, mama cow got it to stand so it could nurse. She seemed a lot more concerned about her second calf rather than her first. She pushed her second calf until it could stand, and then guided it towards her udder so it could nurse. At first, it seemed like the little wobbly creature was having trouble finding a teat, but when it did, it guzzled down as much of the colostrum-filled milk it could.

Colostrum is a protein in milk that newborn calves absolutely need to get within the first several hours of being born. If they don't get that colostrum right away, their chances of survival dwindle to nearly zero. Colostrum is what gives little calves strength and energy to keep up with the herd and grow up. After a few days, mama cow stops producing colostrum because her calf won't need it anymore, and within a month, the little calf will wean off mama cow and start grazing.

Sometimes, farmers have to put little nose clips on calves to prevent them from nursing if they don't wean off the udder as soon as they should. The clips don't pierce the calf's nose like a bull ring does. It's just a little clamp with rubber tips that goes into the nose and is attached to another rubber piece that prevents a calf from nursing. It doesn't hurt the calf since it doesn't pierce the flesh. Otherwise, a calf could cause a lot of damage to mama's udder with its teeth that could lead to some nasty udder infections. Mama cows aren't always so keen on kicking their calves when they do stuff like that, even if she is in pain. Some people believe those nose clips are cruel, but it would be much more cruel to separate the calf from the cow after they'd bonded so much, or let a calf with fully developed teeth continue to nurse. 

Anyway...

When the little calf was finally done nursing after it seemed like he was standing there for ages, he laid down and mama laid beside him. Little newborn calves sleep for about 20 hours a day. Being a calf is exhausting after all! I figured that was a good time to get my dirtbike going. The cows were quiet, mama was comfortable but was giving me the death stare, so I couldn't attempt to sneak her first calf to the shade of the pole shed just yet. I'd have to wait for the cows to drift back into the pasture later that day. So I jogged down to the granary, fetched my helmet, and pushed my dirtbike out into the driveway. 

I first had to do some calculations to fuel up my dirtbike. I'd flushed out the gas tank before I left for the farm because it was full of gas that was months old and probably separated from the oil. Two-stroke dirtbikes need a very specific oil-gas mix in order to run. The gas obviously gets the engine going. The oil keeps the engine lubricated. Two-stroke engines run so quickly that they need a lot of lubrication. However, there couldn't be too much oil in the gas mix, because then it would get clogged up, which I found out the hard way a couple years back. 

Unfortunately, grandma Shirley didn't have a 2 gallon gas can like what the oil-gas ratios were based on. So, I had to put my math skills to work and convert a whole bunch of values so I could correctly measure the oil-gas mix with what I had on hand. I had a plastic measuring cup that filled up to about a pint, 5 gallons of gas, 8 ounces of oil, and a dirtbike with a 1.47 gallon tank. I needed to put a 40:1 gas-oil mix into the tank. That's 1 part oil, 40 parts gas, or 6.4 ounces of oil per 2 gallons of gas. I almost had a stroke figuring all that out after being out of school for so long and without any notes. 

Miraculously, I managed to figure out exactly how much oil needed to go into a pint without texting my former high school teacher for help. I filled up my dirtbike's gas tank one carefully calculated pint at a time, shook the dirtbike from side to side a bit to make sure the oil was mixed in with the gas really well since I didn't have a gas can to shake up, and then opened up the fuel valve so gas would start flooding through the carburetor, and towards the spark plug by the engine. I sat on the dirtbike and waited for a few minutes for everything to get filled up. In the past, if I didn't wait for the gas to make its way through all of the tubes in my dirtbike, it wouldn't start. I'd just flood it and have to wait for the spark plug to dry and excess gas to drain out of the overflow straw. 

When I began to kick down on the kickstarter, nothing seemed to be trying to start. The engine would turn, but it wouldn't ramp up and start spewing blue smoke out of the muffler, even when I pulled back the throttle to let more gas through my dirtbike. At first, I figured I'd flooded it, but I questioned that thought since I didn't smell or see any gas leaking out of the overflow straw. I really thought long and hard about everything I'd ever done to get my dirtbike going, hoping my feeble vacation-mode mind could diagnose an issue and come up with a solution. 

"Engines need fuel to run. Why? Engines need fire. Fuel is flammable. Spark plug creates fire. Fuel feeds fire. Fire turns the engine. Then, why isn't the bike running yet? I have the fuel valve open. Maybe I flooded it? Flooding a dirtbike out means that the spark plug is too wet. If the spark plug is too wet, then that means there's too much fuel. Why is it possible for there to be too much fuel? There's a small valve. What is that valve called again? Anyways. If there's too much fuel, that means that valve's opening is too small and cannot provide enough oxy-Wait! The choke! It's called the choke! Did I check the choke? Is the choke open? If that choke is closed, there is no oxygen, and without oxygen there is no fire!" I thought to myself. I couldn't believe how long it took me to think through everything!

I immediately felt for the choke and sure enough, it was closed, preventing any oxygen from getting to the engine. I was a little embarrassed that it took me that long to retain what I'd learned when I first began studying physics my senior year of high school. But as soon as I opened that choke up, my dirtbike roared to life! 

I looked around to make sure no one was aware of my struggles, and then headed off towards the west where the plowed pea field was. There, I had over 50 acres of plowed ground to ride. It wasn't flat, but I could still ride as fast as I wanted to over the rolling hills and not have to worry about getting launched into oblivion. 

A strong steady crosswind made it a little difficult to ride my dirtbike, but I adapted. After years of riding my dirtbike around Elizabeth, Colorado, I was used to riding on windy days and was almost unfazed. But you'd be surprised just how much the wind could influence me, especially since myself and my dirtbike both don't weigh much, and I proudly have a mohawk on my helmet which acts like a sail. Regardless, I'll never take that mohawk off my helmet, and I'll never stop riding in the wind unless it's gusting up to 60 miles per hour. Turns out, riding in 60 mile per hour crosswinds is a bad idea. I only found that out the hard way when I decided to ignore the wind warnings in Elizabeth one day, and almost took out a neighbor's mailbox. 

I rode up the first hill and had to pause. The views on top of that hill were breathtaking. I was surrounded by rolling green hills under a bright blue sky. I was mesmerized by the way the wind moved through the crops in waves, and how the clouds above gently floated across the sky. To the east was the family farm pond. Just a few hundred yards away from that was the neighbor's hunting blind, which he built with windows facing our pond and his trees. Occasionally, my family would give him permission to hunt on our land, since my family hunted deer elsewhere. 

To the west was my uncle Wes's house, which he built on a hill. A grove of trees and tiny creek separated his property from the pea field. I ended up riding over there and letting my dirtbike rest on its side for a few minutes while I searched for Native Americans arrowheads.

Back in the 1800's, the Chippewa were at war with the Mdewakanton Sioux for that land. The blufflands, rolling hills, large lakes, Mississippi river, and the Zumbro river were rich with wildlife year-round, and were way more sheltered from the winter weather than the great plains or far northern woodlands were.

From what I've read, the Chippewa tribe befriended the white settlers, who began trickling into that region in the 1850's. Meanwhile, the Sioux were much less friendly with the white settlers, and had been fighting with the Chippewa awhile already. The Chippewa Native Americans began to trade furs and meat for guns and horses from the white settlers, which they used against the Mdewakanton Sioux tribe. The Sioux in that region didn't have many horses or guns. They were forced to fight the Chippewa on foot with stone weapons. Somehow, the Sioux held their ground long enough to become a recognized and protected tribe in the region 100 years later, even though the Chippewa had the upper hand the whole time. 

That part of Minnesota is so rich with Native American artifacts that local museums and archeological centers stopped accepting artifacts people were bringing in. Instead, they only ask for a picture of the artifact, as well as information on where it was found, to be put in a database. It's one of the few places in the United States where it's perfectly legal to find and keep Native American artifacts, so long as they were found on property that wasn't a recognized Native American burial ground or other designated site, which there are a lot of in that part of Minnesota. Not only is it a felony to take artifacts from designated sites, but according to native american legend, you'll also get eaten by a wendigo. I almost feel bad about giving my little cousins nightmares for a week when I told them the legend of the wendigo around a campfire a couple years ago. Almost. 

Knowing that the field was freshly plowed, and my uncle Wes always found a decent handful of artifacts on that corner of property every year, I decided to quickly look around. Unfortunately, I didn't find anything of historical significance. I found a crushed Budweiser beer can and what looked to be a part of a rusty gutter. But that was all. I tossed the rusty material into the trees and brought the beer can back to the farm to throw away, after I was done pulling off sweet wheelies and hitting the powerband in 5th gear across the field. 

By then, Troy was on his way back from work, and the little calf was still laying in the sun. The other cows had gone out to pasture, including mama cow with her second calf, so I thought about going into yard to get the calf into the shade. When Jacob saw me leaning against the concrete trough, gazing out at the cows on the pasture, he took that as a green light to jump the trough and sprint straight for the calf before I could grab his shirt and stop him. 

Of course, being 8 years older than him, I was obligated to go into the yard with him in case the cows came rushing back. If anyone was gonna get charged by mama cow, it had to be me. 

"Jacob! Hold up! This isn't a good idea! Kid!" I shouted as I ran in front of him and stopped. 

"Why not? The cows are way over there." he innocently replied, pointing towards the pasture while he walked closer and closer to the calf. 

"Mama cow is always watching no matter what." I replied while I grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to me, "She's just as dangerous as a mama black bear. If a baby black bear comes up to say hi, you don't pet it, do you? No! You run screaming in the opposite direction because mama's close. Same thing applies here." 

Jacob stood there thinking about this for awhile. We were only a few feet away from the calf, who was still alive and beginning to stir. Also, the cows had heard us, and I could just feel mama cow staring into my soul. 

"We are done for if that calf makes one little noi-". 

Just then, that little calf let out a shrill cry for help, interrupting me mid sentence. It was scared of us, and wanted mama cow to get rid of us. And, damn, we were scared of it too!

"Run!" I shouted. 

Jacob took off towards the fence just a few yards away, while I ran back towards the trough hoping to distract mama cow away from Jacob if she was charging toward us. I didn't even stop to look back, though I was convinced I could hear the hooves of 1,200 pounds of angry mama cow rushing up behind me. I thought I was just seconds away from being trampled 6 feet deep in grass and cow shit. That wasn't the first time I thought I was about to die in that pasture, and I'm willing to bet it won't be my last either. Holstein Angus bulls and mama cows are some of the most dangerous animals on the planet, right up there with grizzly bears and rhinos!

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" I shouted as I sprinted across the field, nearly slipped onto my knees on an uneven concrete foundation where a barn once stood, and then threw myself over the concrete trough to safety. My toes failed to clear the trough as I attempted to curl my legs in front of me to land, and I ended up falling onto my face and chest in the grass on the other side instead. I wheezed as all of the air left my lungs the second I hit the ground, and I rolled onto my back as I heard Jacob running up to me, asking if I was ok. 

"Yeah... I'm fine... I'm fine... Don't worry. I'm good!" I coughed as I got to my feet and brushed myself off, "This is exactly why Troy didn't want us in there." 

I looked back, and the herd of cows had gotten closer to the yard, including mama. But, we hadn't been chased like I thought we were. The cows were just curiously watching a couple of stupid rednecks running around the yard after being scared by a little calf's moo. They weren't at all concerned about the little calf that had been laying in the yard all day. But, I think Jacob finally understood why Troy wanted us to stay out of the yard until he got there.

I could tell he felt terrible, so I told him about my first experience with Buddy the bull a few years before, so he knew he wasn't the only one who had bad ideas. Truth is, even the most intelligent kids, teens, and adults do stupid shit sometimes. We don't learn if we don't make mistakes, right?

Not even 10 minutes later, I heard a few loud vehicles racing down the country roads towards the farm. I knew those trucks belonged to my family. The Nibbe boys are known for sawing the mufflers off their cars and trucks three minutes after buying them. 

My cousin Wade Jr arrived first in his grey Chevy Camaro, followed by his dad, Wade Sr in his Semi truck, followed by Troy in his lifted Chevy pickup. Both of my cousins had their girlfriends along, because they wanted to see the cute little calf and help where they could. They all parked by the pole shed, and I ran up to meet them and point them in the right direction. The little calf wasn't looking too good. He was sprawled out and breathing heavily in the sun. By then, he'd been out there for at least 6 hours, and he hadn't gotten to his feet or even nursed yet. Time was quickly running out. If that calf wasn't moved into the shade and fed at least a pint of colostrum in an hour, he wouldn't make it to sunset. 

Wade Jr first checked on the calf while Wade Sr drove out to buy some colostrum and milk replacement. Wade's girlfriend was busy talking to Troy's girlfriend and grandma Shirley, while Troy went to check on his steers in the steer pen with Kael and Jacob. I decided I'd go with Wade Jr to see what we could do, if anything, for the little calf. 

Wade Jr knelt down by the little thing and lifted its back leg up. 

"Yup! He's a boy!" Wade excitedly announced, "Hopefully the other calf is also a boy!"

"Shouldn't we move him to the shade?" I asked. 

"Not yet." Wade replied, "We gotta check on the other calf and test mama's temperament first." 

As we walked up to the pasture together to execute one of the most dangerous jobs in farming, my cousin explained to me why the sexes of the twin calves was very important. If they were both cows, then they'd grow up to produce milk and/or have calves of their own. If they were both bulls, then they'd also be fertile and grow up to be just as big as bull calves that had the whole womb to themselves. However, if one twin was a cow, and the other twin turned out to be a bull, neither calf would be fertile, and chances were both would only grow up to be about 3/4ths the size of an average bull and cow. Under his breath, Wade begged God for another bull calf as we got closer and closer to mama.

I was also praying to God, asking for protection. I prayed we wouldn't piss mama off and get trampled to death, and if we did, to forgive us for doing such a stupid thing when Wade and I arrived in heaven. Also, didn't I just give my little cousin Jacob a lecture about the dangers of getting too close to cattle like this? 

Wade wanted to introduce mama's first calf to her, hoping she'd bond with it the same way she bonded with her second calf. While he didn't think we could herd mama over there without her second calf, Wade knew he could lure mama over to the first calf if he carried the second calf over there. I let him know that I thought that was one of the most preposterous ideas I'd ever heard! That was a surefire way to get charged by mama! The only time I'd even consider doing that is if we came in on horseback. Even then, a cow as big as mama cow could easily push a feisty cowhorse to the ground and still turn around and stomp us into the ground.

They say, "Hell hath no fury like a chestnut mare!" Whoever came up with that saying has clearly never been around a freakishly huge cow with her newborn calf. 

Wade dropped to his hands and knees, and I followed suit. It was very windy out that afternoon, and I struggled to stifle the urge to cough now that I was so close to the ground where dust and pollen were being blown into my face. But, it was better than getting swarmed by flies, moths, and mosquitoes, which is what would've happened if it was calmer. Unfortunately, the little orphaned calf was sheltered from the wind where he was laying. He was too far away from the pole shed to get any shade, but close enough so the shed blocked the wind. He was just baking in the sun and being swarmed by flies without any relief whatsoever. 

Wade told me if we made ourselves look smaller by crawling on the grass, mama cow wouldn't get so upset. In my mind, I questioned this, but said nothing. I just made sure to stay behind Wade and have a planned escape route if things went south. Wade was a year older than me, and that was his idea. So if either one of us had to get trampled, it would be him. We crawled right up to mama and her calf. Mama cow was even more massive up close. I'd never seen a cow as big as her, let alone had the guts to crawl right up to her calf to take it from her. 

I got nervous, and backed up a bit while mama cow approached us. But, Wade stayed put and softly spoke to mama as he reached out to pet her. She mooed a little, but it wasn't a warning. It was more of a curious, "Hi. What are you? Can I lick you?" kind of moo. Wade lifted the little calf's leg and excitedly announced, "Yup! Another boy!"

He then tried to scoop up the little bull. But as soon as he had one arm under the calf, mama got much more stressed out. So, again, Wade and I got down to our knees and calmed down mama cow. Wade reached out and rubbed her silky forehead while he quietly talked to her. The cow then turned towards me, and Wade encouraged me to pet her too, so I did. Mama cow was very gentle and seemed to enjoy it when I rubbed my hand up and down her muzzle.

Wade decided it was not a good idea to take her calf away, even if it was just for a few hundred yards. Mama just got too stressed out whenever he attempted to lift her calf off the ground. Instead, we'd bottle feed the orphaned bull calf until he could stand and walk on his own. Then, we'd give this whole bonding thing another try.