Fresh Air
Mooing cows, making friends with rabbits and learning from a toad about patience.
I LEARNED TO SWOO at an early age. As a kid, my father would send me out to call the cows home at feeding time. I’d cup my hands around my mouth and let out a loud swoo. Before long a cow would moo back, and then the trees would start rustling as the animals slowly followed each other back to the barn to feed.
Years later, my husband and I still handle the joys and challenges of raising cattle. I had a restful day planned one Saturday when I received a call from the sheriff’s office that our 1,500-pound bull was out along the highway. We live a few miles from the pasture, so we quickly gathered some rope, fencing supplies and our patience before heading to the farm.
The bull and two other cows had jumped the fence and were grazing on the lush green winter grass along the highway. After some coaxing, they turned and leaped right back over a low spot in the fence. For the next hour or so, we walked and repaired openings in the fence, one section at a time.
When I checked on our other herd, I found a new baby calf with its ears wiggling. Over the years, even with our day jobs, we have had ranch and gardening duties as our side profession. Our family members, including our three children, were once active in the local 4-H club, winning blue ribbons. That was an exciting time because we were an African American agriculture club that was continuing the traditions of caring for the land. Even though as a kid I
had definite plans of getting away from the farming and ranch life, still today you might find me walking to the edge of a hill and swooing our cows back up at feeding time.
CYNTHIA MATLOCK Whitehouse, Texas