In my seventh year of life, on a rather hot spring day, I ran my hands over the rising switchgrass as I rustled out into the pasture after Mama Gurley said that a new calf had been born. “You can probably find him out there near the big tree by the fence,” she said, turning in the bright kitchen, passing Mom a spoon, who was cradling my baby sister. “You know the one, the big, tall, fat tree that’s hunched over. That baby’s probably there in the shade.” The flatland of fields in the Arkansas delta made trees in the distance distinct in their characters, like sculptures easily recognized. Since Mom was having “adult conversation” with my grandmother, I thought going out to explore and see this new addition to her herd was the perfect idea. As the screen door slapped shut behind me, I heard, “We’ll see if we can find you a treat when you get back!” I hoped it was her chocolate pie.
The walk was a long one from the faded gray barn behind the white farmhouse all the way out to the tree, but my excitement propelled me forth along the pasture in anticipation of meeting this new little fella. I looked down at my feet tossing dirt on the ground as I made my way along the fence, tapping the barbed wire with a stick I had acquired along the way. Before I arrived at the edge of the shade of the wide green canopy of the big tree, I looked around to see where the other cows were. There were plenty around, but not very close, minding their own business, some lounging in the sunshine by their watering hole, others grazing absentmindedly.
As I walked into the subdued shade, I was surprised to see the calf standing strong all alone by the fence. We eyed each other cautiously as I remained incredibly still, stopped in my tracks. I held my breath as I took him in: brown and white hide, pink nose, wide eyes, his ears rotating toward sounds. The calf didn’t seem frightened by me, and he was about the same height as me. Timidly, I believed if I just reached out my hand and walked forward very slowly, I could pet his head. What a story it would be to tell Mama Gurley! Nervously and hesitantly, I raised my arm and took a step.
Stars.
The next thing I remember is opening my eyes to see part of the tree and part of the big blue sky, with a bright white cloud or two floating by into view from flat on my back on the hard ground. Stunned, I saw my right leg was caught on the fence, my blue jeans snared on barbed wire. I had been involuntarily moved some distance from where I had been standing just before. And to my amazement, shock, and awe, a huge brown and white cow stood over me, licking my exposed right calf.
Shoo, cow.
Mom and Mama Gurley thought the whole thing was absolutely hilarious. It tickled them into a very hearty laugh that I had tried to pet the new calf only to have its protective mother toss me like a doll into a barbed wire fence. Oblivious to the story’s humor, I thought they were being very insensitive, and was pouting needingly. Taking me to the bathroom, Mama Gurley fished out a Band-aid from the blue and red branded, white tin can to put on the freshly washed cut on my leg. I sat on the toilet, and as she turned from the medicine cabinet, she smiled. “Well, you are still alive, aren’t you?” she asked, looking over her glasses and lining up the band-aid on my left calf propped on the bathtub. “Yes.” She pressed; I winced.
“There you go,” Mama Gurley said, unbothered, “You’re going to need a shot.” I shot a scowl through my clenched teeth and pulled my jeans down over my calf. I wanted her to feel my hurt with me. I wanted her to scoop me up, hug me, and feel sorry for me. My bruised ego made me feel utterly defeated, smaller than the baby calf and half as smart. “Cracker Jack, I’ll tell you something,” she said, putting the tin back into the cabinet behind the mirror before facing me. Embracing my chin in her hands, she looked into my eyes and said, “We all get knocked off our feet sometimes.”
Mama Gurley stood and reached into her apron pocket for a tissue, “Besides, that cow was probably really sorry she had hurt someone else’s baby.” She dabbed the tissue to the tip of her nose. “After she knew you weren’t going to hurt her baby, she was licking you to make sure you were alright.” Mama Gurley knew her cows better than I did, and that thought did make me feel a little better, so I took her word for it. I still wasn’t planning any trips back out to the pasture for a while. I’d need a second wind.
Mama Gurley stood me up, “Now, guess what’s on the kitchen table, covered in meringue?”
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