May 31, 2003

• Farm Life

  
  

  He stood at the kitchen sink and watched her start back toward the house from the barn.  Her halting steps and the way she held her side had him out the back door and off the porch before the screen could slam against the wooden frame.  She stopped and waited for him to reach her, but turned her face away from his gaze. 

  
  

  "What happened?"

  
  

  "It was stupid.  I can't believe it."

  
  

  He reached up and brushed the tear from her cheek.  "It'll be  okay.  Tell me what happened."

  
  

  "The cow," she shook her head and took a deep breath.  "She kicked the bucket."

  
  

  "Just the bucket?"

  
  

  "No."

  
  

  He had to lean in to hear the whisper.  There in the backyard with her face turning red and in spite of her attempts to push his arms away, he unbuttoned her soft cotton feed-sack dress and pushed it from her shoulders.  The ugly bruise forming on her hip answered his question.  He pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair.

  
  

  As she felt his gentle touch, she lost her fragile control and began to sob on the front of his faded overalls. 

  
  

  "Its all right.  Don't worry, it's all right.  We'll take care of you."

  
  

  "But, I still have to milk that cow.  I'm not getting enough and the baby needs -"

  
  

  "Sssssh.  The baby will be fine.   In fact, I want you to take the kids and go to your mother's for the day.  She has milk, and you need to rest."

  
  

  "But I have to can."

  
  

  "Nothin'.  You are cannin' nothin' today.  You're going to your mother and that's the last I have to say."

  
  

  She shuddered but nodded her agreement.  He got the truck and pulled it up to the front of the house.  She carried the baby, and held a sleepy toddler by the hand.  A slightly older child followed her with a basket.

  
  

  He shook his head at the sight.  She didn't need her sewing basket, that wasn't rest.  But when he opened his mouth to tell his daughter to put it back, he realized that if he sent her without something to occupy her hands, she was as likely to spend the day in her mother's garden as on the porch.

  
  

  When he picked them up that evening, she looked less tired, and the worry lines were eased around her eyes.  "How did it go?"

  
  

  "Mamma told me that the baby is growing and looking good.  I guess she's getting enough to eat in spite of my drying up."  The infection that interrupted her nursing when the baby was barely three months old frightened her more than she wanted to admit.  She nursed the older children until they were over a year old. But this precious baby, so much smaller than she remembered the others being had been so weak to start with and then deprived of her mother's milk just when she should have been getting a good growth spurt.  Making the switch to a bottle had been difficult for them both.  If she couldn't find a way to control the cow so that the milk supply was steady, well, she couldn't bear to think what might happen. 

  
  

  The next morning she woke when he slipped from their bed.  "Where are you going?  It's still too early."

  
  

  "Hush, go back to sleep.  I'm going to milk today."

  
  

  "What?  You can't."

  
  

  "I believe I know how to milk a cow.  Now go back to sleep."

  
  

  She couldn't lie in their bed knowing that he was doing her chores.  A hot flush of shame filled her, what kind of farm wife lay in bed while her man milked?  Then she thought she could at least have a hot breakfast waiting for him when he was done.  So it was that she stood at the kitchen sink and saw him come out of the barn with what appeared to be a full bucket.  But that wasn't what made her mouth drop open.  He was wearing her dress.  Oh, he couldn't button it all the way, but it was pulled over his long johns and she couldn't drag her eyes away from the sight of his legs sticking out from beneath the fluttering hem. 

  
  

  He walked in the back door and set the bucket on the counter.  She couldn't think of anthing to say.  He laughed at the open mouthed expression of shock and leaned over to kiss her, "My, that sausage smells good.  You sure know how to treat a man right." 

  
  

  She stood and watched him peel off the dress on his way back to their room.  Then realized that her breakfast was about to burn.  She never learned exactly what had taken place in the barn that morning, but the cow never tried to kick her again.

  
  

  *************

  
  

  She may not have known, but I do.  Forty years after that cow learned how not to treat a woman, I sat on his knee and heard from my Grandfather how he'd taken a bucket and a 2x4 to the barn that morning.  He figured that cows aren't really bright, so when she saw Grandma's dress, and smelled Grandma's scent, she thought it was Grandma.  But when she raised her hoof to kick, Grandpa hit her between the eyes.  He said it only took about four good whacks to convince her to change her ways. 

  • 10:07 am
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