The Cows Are Crying

The cows are crying. (not a sentence I ever imagined writing)

A few times a year, our little street echoes with the bellows and moans and outright wails of distressed cows. This means that one of our farmer neighbors has separated the mamas and babies, presumably so that the babies can go to be auctioned.

The sounds of the cows are heartbreaking. I doubt they know that their babies are likely destined for a slaughterhouse, but change on any level is hard.

I didn’t cry so loudly or publicly when my children left home, but then again, we had years to work up to that inevitability. And, if I’m honest, I was ready for them to leave.

My friend Nancy calls our young adult kids ‘starter adults.’ It is exciting, if sometimes anxiety-producing, to watch them unfurl their wings and try them out. We compare notes on our decidedly different kids who aren’t all following the path traditionally marked out for them.

I still worry, and I still hurt when they hurt, but at least we aren’t in the same pasture, so I get their news filtered through the lens of twenty-something idealism and hope.

Often, as I listen to their stories of nights out or dealing with the DMV (or the parking authority) or cooking for themselves, I smile, remembering my own struggles. Usually, Nick and I sympathize, and sometimes, we offer suggestions. Too often, I can’t keep my mouth shut. I should know better. When I was a starter adult, I made all kinds of bad choices about eating (and drinking) and concocted too many ill-fated schemes buoyed by the resiliency of youth.

There is plenty I regret about those years, but without them, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I lean on the truth of Maya Angelou’s words – when you know better, you do better.

So much we have to figure out on our own, even if it would be easier if someone older and wiser instead directed our actions.

My kids are figuring it out. Sometimes things go better than others, but the one clear plumbline running through their lives is that they are good people—kind, curious, honest, and intelligent.

I can only lay a 50% claim on their intelligence, but the kindness, the curiosity, the honesty? I hope those are qualities we instilled in them while they were living in our pasture.

The crying cows do make me think of my kids. I too often wish I’d done some things differently, but whatever we did, whatever burdens we put on our kids that will have to be unpacked in therapy someday, whatever mistakes we can’t change, they still added up to three remarkable individuals who are good people.

And more than anything, our world needs good people.

This morning, the cows were not crying so insistently. The valley was quiet for minutes at a time before one cow would softly moo, and then others would join the chorus until it petered out again. I’m grateful for the quiet and hope it means the cows have made peace with the situation.

Hey, thanks for reading. I know you’ve got lots of options, so thanks for sharing a few of your minutes with me.

Honored,

Cara

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My latest novel, Blind Turn is a mother-daughter story of forgiveness in the aftermath of a fatal texting and driving accident. It won the Womens Fiction category of the American Writing Awards in 2022. Learn more about it and find out how to get your copy here.

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