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The night walkEditor's Note: Trent's wife, Kelli Loos, was inspired to write this week's Loos Tales column while taking a night walk. For those of you that have been calving or lambing for a month or so now, just lean your chair back, drape this paper over your face and take a well-earned siesta. For those like me who are just getting started, I would like to share a few thoughts on "The Night Walk." As good herdsmen of livestock, you all know what I am talking about. It is that obligatory walk in the dead of night just to make sure nobody needs your assistance in delivering her newborn. And it is really more than just a walk. First, let's consider the season. If this were summer and the walk amounted to jumping out of bed, slipping on a little jacket and sliding into a pair of flip-flops that were waiting by the door (the "outside" model just in case you step in something), it would be a breeze. But instead, when that alarm rings at 2 a.m., and probably again at 2:10 a.m., you have to slide out of that warm nest and think about getting smacked in the face with a blast of cold air. It is one of those times when you really wish you had the most uncomfortable bed in the world instead of a haven of fuzzy flannel and goosedown, simply because it would be so much easier to get out of. Once out of bed, you slip out of your warm jammies and into those outside clothes because the first time you think you can get away with just jumping into your coveralls over the pajamas you will inevitably be spending the rest of the night outside pulling something, helping something nurse or any other host of issues that you hope each time you step out the door that you won't have to deal with in the dark. So, when it's really cold maybe you wear those long-handles and wool socks under your pajamas so you can keep one warm layer on. Then it's on with the rest of the layers--sweatshirts, coveralls, coat or vest, warm gloves, scarf if it's really cold. You know the drill. And, we can't forget the light. Though my husband laughed when I purchased a headlight that straps on my forehead over my headband, I noticed him wearing it the last time it was his turn for "the walk." It is a mighty handy investment that allows you to have both hands free to do what you need to do, and you can still see where you are going. It is especially helpful in the kidding barn when you are trying to get twins onto an uncooperative nanny. There are also the big spotlights, which are great for seeing clear over on that opposite hill where most heifers will sneak off to be alone and calve. They are not so beneficial, however, when they run out of charge about halfway through the walk and you have to negotiate your way through slumbering bovine and frozen ground, with only the help of what little moonlight may be available. Once you are out the door, it is usually not so bad. I say that as I am knocking on my wooden desk, because so far we haven't had too many of those nights where you couldn't see 10 feet in front of you because of the blowing snow and sleet. If it's OK with the powers that be, I'd like it to stay that way. Those walks are nothing short of completely horrible. I do know why the pioneers used to tie a rope from the house to the barn, because there have been times when I wondered if I would ever see the house again. Those walks are just not fun at all but probably some of the most important. Now that you are awake, there are plenty of interesting and often beautiful things to experience while most of the world is sound asleep. Sometimes it is the moon and stars that never seem to get less breathtaking even though you've seen them a million times. A full moon on a snow-covered pasture is really worth the lost sleep. The sounds of coyotes, a distant train, and even the breathing of the animals at rest seems more evident during this quiet time, as you quietly mingle through the resting herd. Most nights, of course, it seems like you got up, got dressed, and took that walk for nothing. But you know as well as I do that the one night you decide not to pull yourself out of bed will be the night that the backward calf tries to arrive and you find a mess in the morning. Or, two cows calve close to each other and both of them claim the same calf, leaving the second one to get chilled. Once you've made your rounds--and by now you are wide awake--it's time to head back to the house. And as much as that warm bed is so inviting, it is not like you will be able to hit the pillow and immediately return to that dream you were enjoying before the alarm sounded. No, something about that cold night air really did wake you up, and now you get to start all over at falling back to sleep. The good news is that as the season progresses and your total hours of quality sleep continue to diminish, it will get easier and easier to hit the hay and fall fast asleep. Best wishes for many peaceful and uneventful walks during this calving season! Editor's note: Trent Loos is a sixth generation United States farmer, host of the daily radio show, Loos Tales, and founder of Faces of Agriculture, a non-profit organization putting the human element back into the production of food. Get more information at www.FacesOfAg.com, or e-mail Trent at trent@loostales.com.
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