In the spring, we turned 26 yearling heifers out to pasture for the first time. They enjoyed the freedom to graze and respected the electric fence. All of that changed when the high winds of Hurricane Arthur caused the power to go out for several hours. A tree fell on the fence, and the heifers discovered they could walk across it without being zapped. They scattered and trotted up and down the driveway until we herded them into a fenced area.
Matthew plugged the fence into a generator to keep them contained until the power was restored. Thus marked the beginning of a summer spent mending fences and chasing rambunctious heifers.
After the storm, we fixed the broken fence, tested the electric current, and returned the heifers to their original location. Shortly thereafter, they began escaping. One evening after milking, we spent an hour driving the heifers back into their pasture. After repairing the three-wire fence, we built another electric fence inside of the existing fence so there would be two barricades of electric wire. Satisfied with our efforts, we wearily went to bed.
The next night, after Blake, an industrious young fellow, and I had finished the evening milking, we discovered six heifers roaming outside their pasture. We decided to herd them into the main barn until we reinforced the fence. Matthew hopped onto the four-wheeler to steer them towards the barn. Running on foot, Blake and I tried to prevent them from veering off in different directions. Despite our gallant efforts, two heifers joined the older milk cows by stepping through the fence. After a grand chase, three of them ended standing breathless by the main barn, where we coaxed them inside with a grain bucket.
In the midst of the commotion, one heifer named Rosie jumped between two rows of large round hay bales and became stuck. Matthew used the four-wheeler to push the bales together so she couldn’t go forward or backward. Sandwiched between the bales, all you could see was her black head poking above the five-foot high hay bales. Blake climbed onto a bale closest to her head and secured it with a halter and lead rope. We rolled the bales back enough so she could squeeze her body out through the opening. Glad to be free from her confinement, Rosie hurtled forward like a bucking bronco flying out of its chute. Matthew hauled the squirming, resistant 800-pound heifer to the barn.
The following day, we refortified the fence and reunited the wayward heifers with their herd mates.
There were no escapees for the next two weeks. However, they quickly ate all of the grass in the small pasture, forcing us to feed them from our winter’s supply of round hay bales. Hence, we made the decision to double-fence a larger pasture and place the dry cows and heifers together, hoping the older, mature cows would settle down the mischief-makers.
In order to double-fence the pasture with electricity, we needed to bush-hog the inside perimeter of the fence. On a sweltering day, Blake drove our giant 4430 John Deere tractor with the bush-hog attachment to our back pasture. Riding the four-wheeler, my job was to drive in front of him and lead him around the obstacles hidden in the thick bushes. This method worked well until I unknowingly led him right into a spring-fed mud hole.
I easily rode over the top of the gushy spot, which caused me to misjudge the depth and distance of the sodden earth. When I looked over my shoulder, the tractor wasn’t moving forward and the back tires were spinning. My heart sank when I saw the enormous tractor tires mired in muddy ruts two and a half feet deep. Lacking four-wheel drive, the tractor could not move forward or backward. At the time, we didn’t have a four-wheel-drive tractor to haul us out, so calling for help was not an option.
We didn’t have any tools, and there weren’t any nearby rocks or dirt piles to use for traction. Looking around me, I started breaking off tree branches and stuffing them into the muddy ruts behind and in front of all four tires. When he drove the tractor backward, it moved six inches before it started spinning again. Encouraged, we began breaking off large pine boughs from a nearby pine tree stand and packed them into the trench beneath the tires. Using our hands, we scraped out gobs of gooey mud from the tractor treads to improve traction.
Each time Blake drove the tractor backward, it moved a few more inches out of the mud hole, and then we started the whole process over again, jamming boughs beneath the tires and cleaning out the treads. Finally, after several attempts, the tractor backed its way out of the sinkhole and onto drier ground. Drenched with sweat, but undefeated, we finished bush hogging without incident and returned to the farm.
The next day, the double fence was completed. By the afternoon, Blake, Matthew, Walker, Anna, Wyatt and I rounded up the heifers and dry cows and moved them into the back pasture. For two weeks, the herd behaved themselves. Then one morning at breakfast, we received a phone call informing us our cows were grazing in our neighbor’s lush clover field. The children, who love the thrill of a roundup, helped us drive them back into a pasture near the barn where we could monitor them while we hatched a new plan.
Throughout the summer, we’d discussed using barbed wire fence. We had never used barbed wire before, and I balked at it because I was concerned the animals would become entangled in the vicious wire and maim themselves. However, chasing the cows was time-consuming and exhausting, and by this time, we had no other choice.
We bought rolls of barbed wire and Blake, Anna and I spent half a day fencing in a 20-acre pasture. Anna helped us all afternoon carrying the bucket of staples, passing us the staples, and even fetching us some ice cold grape juice to drink. By the end of the day, we released the bovine beasts into the pasture where they remained for the rest of the summer.
Occasionally, an errant heifer found a spot in the fence where the bared wire wasn’t taut and escaped. One day I watched in amusement as a heifer named Lonestar deftly stuck her head under the barbed wire and let it slide over her arched back as she squeezed through the fence like Tom Cruise in the movie “Mission: Impossible.”
Our summer escapades herding the heifers served as a reminder to never underestimate the cleverness of a cow.
Editor’s Note: Lee-Rae Jordan-Oliver and her husband Matt are former educators who own a dairy farm in Hodgdon. Her column, discussing life on a farm, will appear on an ongoing basis in The Houlton Pioneer Times.
